


Don't Bother Begging For Your Life (That's a Lost Cause)

by samlover14



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Multi, Suicide Squad AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samlover14/pseuds/samlover14
Summary: Jones is an FIB agent who's been told to take the FAKEs on a suicide mission to rescue Tuggey, another agent, who's being held hostage by a terrorist group.  The unfortunate part is he knows these guys, he hates these guys, and he's the reason these guys are in jail, but they undoubtedly have the skills to pull off the job.
****
“Tuggey’s been compromised.”  Michael sat straight up.  “Bet that got you up.”
“Cut the shit, Jack, who has her?  If it’s the FAKEs, I will cut them down, and I’ll fucking start with the Mad King.”
The FAKEs were the most fearsome gang in Los Santos.  Michael had had the unfortunate assignment of infiltrating their ranks and barely escaped with his life.  Between Ramsey and the Mad King, Michael would have to be stupid to try to go back into their lair, despite the fact that the entire crew (Mad King excepted) was currently being held in maximum security federal prison.
****
The Suicide Squad/Achievement Hunter AU no one asked for, certainly.





	1. Introduction

“Jones.” Nnh. “Jones, we need you.”

 

“What?” Michael asked, grumpily, from beneath his blanket.

 

“We need you to assemble the FAKEs.”

 

“No fucking way. Do you know what almost happened to me last time?” Michael asked, ripping his blankets off his head to glare at his phone which was on speaker and on the bed next to him.

 

“This time, they’ll be working for us. You’re in charge of them, and if they step out of line, we have a plan.”

 

“Good fucking luck,” Michael snorted, lying back in the bed.

 

“Tuggey’s been compromised.” Michael sat straight up. “Bet that got you up.”

 

“Cut the shit, Jack, who has her? If it’s the FAKEs, I will cut them down, and I’ll fucking start with the Mad King.”

 

“It’s not the FAKEs,” Jack assured him, her voice warmer than it had been. “There’s a terrorist group, they’re out in the desert, and they took her because they knew you would come in guns blazing to get her, and once they had you, they could get to me, and once they got me, they’ve taken over the entire security system this God-forsaken country has.”

 

“Smart,” Michael said. “What does this have to do with the FAKEs?”

 

“They have the skills we need to do the job, and I don’t give a shit if they die getting her out of there,” Jack said. Michael had to agree.

 

The FAKEs were the most fearsome gang in Los Santos. Michael had had the unfortunate assignment of infiltrating their ranks and barely escaped with his life. Between Ramsey and the Mad King, Michael would have to be stupid to try to go back into their lair, despite the fact that the entire crew (Mad King excepted) was currently being held in maximum security federal prison.

 

Ramsey was the crew’s leader. He used to own the penthouse where they all lived before they went to prison. Now the only inhabitant of said penthouse back in Los Santos was the Mad King himself, slowly going madder as the days rolled on. He made empty threats and vague plans on how to find his boyfriend, BrownMan, but couldn’t find where he’d been shipped to, and didn’t seem to care about getting the rest of the crew back. The Mad King was never without his knives and in the old days, had ruled Los Santos, cutting through anyone who didn’t have the good sense God gave rocks to get out of his way. BrownMan was an infamous sniper in his own right, but once the Mad King got to him, the pair of them couldn’t be stopped. It was incredible BrownMan was in prison, considering his skills. He was more than adept in hand to hand combat and could make fascinatingly accurate shots from further than anyone ever had before.

 

Most people looking at the FAKE dynamic would think Ramsey was merely the leader and did very little of the dirty work himself, but he was a better shot than most, when fully equipped, and deadly with guns at close range. He would have never gone to prison alive if Jack hadn’t found the one thing he couldn’t say no to – his 10 year old daughter. Said daughter lived with Ramsey’s ex-wife, but it wasn’t exactly a secret he wanted and deserved custody. Ramsey had been on one of his visits with his daughter when he’d been ambushed, and his daughter had begged him not to kill his attackers. He’d gone to prison with no resistance because of her, but he still loved her and dreamt of a life where he could have kept her safe.

 

The Golden Boy was unfortunately just as much of a danger to others as he was to himself, and Michael rolled his eyes as Jack slapped his picture on the table. He was undoubtedly the most inept member of the crew, but Ramsey kept him along for his way with words. The Golden Boy always seemed to be able to talk others into doing things they wouldn’t normally do, and Michael would never admit some of the things he’d done while under that spell.

 

Monster Truck wasn’t literally a tank, but he might as well have been. It was like the kid was made of concrete. He could take a hit like a boss, despite his small stature, he was built. He didn’t look like much, but an ex-gymnast was nothing to mess around with. Jack slapped the pictures of the other two members of the B-team down as well, Matt and TreyCo. Why Matt didn’t have a fearsome gang name like the rest, Michael wasn’t sure, but the hacker of the FAKEs was not to be messed with. TreyCo was not particularly dangerous that Michael knew of, just the webadmin of the crew, and Jack admitted she wasn’t sure why they’d arrested him, just that he was part of the crew they were taking apart.

 

Michael had been sent undercover as Mogar to infiltrate their crew. It was surprisingly easy to gain their trust the first time around, but Michael knew he wouldn’t have the same luxury this time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… Why didn’t I kill you the first time? Michael had barely escaped with his life the last time, and he was sure this whole mission to recover Tuggey was just a ruse to get him killed, despite how many times Jack assured him it wasn’t.

 

“So I’m supposed to roll up to the prison, knock on the door, say, ‘Pattillo wants Ramsey, BrownMan, Golden Boy, Monster Truck, Matt, and TreyCo,’ and they’re going to just give me them, and I’m not going to get killed by at least one of the three actually competent FAKEs I’m borrowing? Not to mention the Mad King is still up my butt about his fucking boyfriend, so I’ll probably have to kick his ass while I’m at it,” Michael recapped. “Yeah, sure, no problem. One on six usually goes so well for me.”

 

“Take Turney with you,” Jack said.

 

“Oh, yeah, that’ll help. Two on six,” Michael snorted. “Thanks, Jack, but I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t YOU get these guys and go with them, and I’ll just stay home and piss and moan about how some terrorists stole my girlfriend, just like the Mad King does. Seems to be working for him.”

 

“Because Tuggey is property of the federal government, and your mission is to save her,” Jack said. “Any more questions?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Michael agreed. “How are you planning on these assholes not killing me immediately or just bolting the second they get out of prison?”


	2. Vinewood Screaming Garden

“Nanoexplosives,” Michael declared, holding up a scan of one of their necks.  “Size of a rice grain, powerful as a hand grenade.  If you disobey me, you die.”  The FAKEs did not seem to like this plan, but they weren’t asked their opinion.  “You try to escape, you die.  You otherwise irritate or vex me, and guess what?  You die.”

 

BrownMan raised a hand.  “I’m known to be quite vexing?”

 

“Shut up,” Michael threw at him.  “Here’s the deal.  You’re doing the FIB a favor, and if you don’t get killed, you’ll get time off your sentences.  But you’ll probably get killed, because I’ve got the itchiest trigger finger you’ve ever seen, and I hate every single one of you.”

 

“Is there an option to just go back to jail?” TreyCo asked, raising his hand like he was in class.

 

“No,” Michael snapped.  TreyCo dropped his hand and pouted.  “Anyone else?”

 

“So was that like a pep talk?” Ramsey asked.

 

“Yeah,” Michael nodded shortly.  “Problem?”

 

“You might want to work on your motivational speech.  You heard of Phil Jackson?  He’s like the gold standard.  TRIANGLE, bitch.  Study,” Ramsey lectured, making a triangle with his fingers.  It took everything Michael had not to punch him right in his stupid mustache.

 

“Michael,” Golden Boy cooed.  Michael’s glare hardened in his direction as the Brit’s accent butchered his name.  “Lovely Michael, why are we on this mission?”

 

“Behold, the face of God,” Michael said, holding up an iPad.  On the screen was Jack, her curly brownish-red hair exactly the same as ever, and looking no less fearsome than she usually did.  The FAKEs were very familiar with her, unfortunately.  She’d gone undercover with the FAKEs for years, long before Michael had even been hired by the FIB.  She worked with them like she was one of them, but when it was over, she crumbled them to the ground, but they’d burned her bad, and she couldn’t get a conviction on a single one of them.  It became a personal vendetta for her to catch these bastards.  The FAKEs hated her, but none more than Ramsey, as she had taken apart his marriage while she took apart his crew.  Ramsey had lost everything besides his boys, and not even Jack fucking Pattillo was going to take those.

 

“Gentlemen,” Jack addressed them.

 

“Go to hell,” Monster Truck spat.

 

“Already there,” Jack said smoothly.  “Your mission is to get into the secure area, retrieve Tuggey, deliver her to me, take out any hostiles in your path, and protect Jones with your lives.  If you succeed, ten years off your prison sentences.  If you fail, you die.”

 

“Ten years off a triple life sentence?” Golden Boy asked.  “You’re having a laugh.”

 

“Do I look like I’m having a laugh, Free?” Jack asked him.  Golden Boy shut up.  “If anything happens to Jones, I’ll kill every single one of you.  I see everything.”

 

“That was your pep talk,” Michael told them, turning off the iPad.  He gestured to a van where men were throwing bags onto the dusty ground.  “There’s your shit.  Suit up.  Wheels up in ten minutes.”

 

Each member of the crew pulled their prized possessions out of their bags.  For Ramsey, it was mostly guns, and a faded dirty old tuxedo.  Golden Boy put his gold rimmed sunglasses on first before loading up with golden guns and knives.  Monster Truck seemed to value a cowboy hat for whatever reason, Matt and TreyCo had a few assorted weapons, but BrownMan was really drawing the attention.

 

Those guards that didn’t know who BrownMan was or what he was famous for, were probably confused as he changed quickly into baggy jeans, an oversized purple hoodie, black and white checked vans, and a beanie with the FAKE logo on the front, but the strangest thing they saw was probably his bright pink arsenal, including his favorite, his sniper rifle.

 

“What?” he asked, when he saw nearly everyone staring at him.

 

“You’re fine,” Ramsey told him.  The six of them crowded around two planes with Jones, a handful of army guys, and some more FIB agents.

 

“Assholes, you’re with me,” Jones said, directing the FAKEs into one plane while the feds loaded into the other.  They were all seated politely like well-behaved citizens when one last person ran up the ramp.  She had a katana, blue hair, and a plaid skirt.  Not exactly what you'd expect from a FIB agent.  “This is Turney, she’s with me.  If you fuck with her, I’ll blow your fuckin head off.”

 

\--

 

“I got a hold of Ry,” Ray murmured in Geoff’s ear.

 

“Thank God,” Geoff muttered under his breath.

 

“He’s coming for me,” Ray whispered, barely able to contain a cackle, turning away from Geoff’s ear to put his full attention on Pokemon.

 

They really should have searched his personal belongings harder if they didn’t want him to have his cell phone or his DS. 

 

“For Christ’s sake, Ray,” Michael bitched from the other side of the cargo bay, seeing Ray playing on his DS.

 

“C’mon, man, you know me,” Ray shrugged. 

 

Yes, Michael knew this crew, maybe better than Jack did, but at least as well.  He wasn’t about to call them by their bullshit gang names like Jack was, pretending he wasn’t familiar with them.  He knew this crew inside and out, he knew their weaknesses, their flaws, their strengths, their differences, their likes, their dislikes, and he was, quite frankly, surprised that Jack would want him anywhere near them, given how badly he nearly screwed up his undercover work with them.

 

The most crucial thing about this mission was that the FAKEs did not find out who Tuggey was until they’d rescued her.  In a perfect world, they wouldn’t even know then, but they were criminals, not idiots.

 

“Who’s the bird we’re rescuing?” Gavin asked, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder.  Michael didn’t bother telling him to move.  It was all his itchy trigger finger could do to stop himself from blowing them all up now and getting Lindsay himself.

 

“Tuggey is an agent, she’s worth more than all your lives combined,” Michael said shortly.  “More than mine too.”

 

“Is she lovely like you, Michael?” Gavin cooed.

 

“Shut your trap, or I’ll shut it for you,” Michael warned.  Gavin knew exactly how far he could make Michael go with his golden charm and way with words, and Michael was not having it.  Gavin had the sense to shut up, but left his head on Michael’s shoulder.

 

“So… what’s the plan?” Trevor asked, looking anxiously between Geoff and Michael.

 

“Simple extraction mission,” Geoff said, “from the sounds of it.  There will likely be guards, and we can assume they’ll be heavily armed.  Just another high stakes heist, nothing to get excited about.  We all know what to do.”

 

“We’ll run it like the Vinewood Screaming Garden,” Michael said.  Everyone turned to look at him instead of Geoff.

 

“Vinewood Screaming Garden,” Geoff repeated flatly, looking at Michael in disbelief.

 

The Vinewood Screaming Garden was a heist they'd pulled off while Michael was with the crew.  A fairly simple, _very_ high stakes extraction mission.  The Mad King himself had been taken hostage (an ordeal involving a spiked drink and Ray in tears), and the rest of the FAKEs had had to infiltrate the headquarters of their rival gang, Funhaus, who were at the time, their main competition for control of Los Santos.  They'd since been flattened, but with the FAKEs in prison, had probably taken control of the city again.  Funhaus had had control of most of Vinewood at the time.  The heist itself had definitely not gone according to plan, but the plan, as plans go, was flawless.  Each member of the crew had been played to their strengths.

 

“Eight-man heist,” Michael said.

 

“Not a man,” Meg pointed out.

 

“Eight-person heist,” Michael corrected.  “We’ll get a portable setup so Matt can have eyes on everything.  Team One, Meg and Trevor will sneak in first and try to get a hook into their surveillance system.  Once Matt has eyes, Team Two, myself and Gavin–”

 

“Team Nice Dynamite, back in effect,” Gavin interjected, holding up a thumbs up to pound with Michael.  Michael didn’t take it, and stopped talking to stare at Gavin.

 

“He got us all arrested, asshole, he’s not on our team,” Geoff said to Gavin.  “Slap him for me, I don’t want to get up.”  Michael slapped Gavin, and it felt good.

 

“As I was saying, once Matt has eyes, Team Nice Dynamite will start blowing shit up outside the joint, to try to draw the guys out of the building,” Michael continued.  “Once the guys start running out, Team Three, that’s Geoff and Jeremy, will take out all the guys.  Kill everyone.  I want everyone dead.  Ray, you’ll be stationed on any high ground we can get you helping Team Three.  Assuming there’s not an infinite spawn of bad guys coming out of the building, we’ll prep to enter Phase Two.  Meg and Ray will rendezvous with teams two and three as we enter the building.  Gavin and Jeremy, Team Little Britain, you’ll be the distraction.  Ray, I’m assuming this is a warehouse or some shit, so get into the rafters or a catwalk, as high as you can, but don’t shoot until my signal.  Meg, Geoff, and I will take out any remaining assholes, we’ll recover Tuggey, and escape out the back.  Trevor, at this point, you will rendezvous with the remaining teams, One, Two, Three, Ray, and now Tuggey, and evac us with some kind of aircraft, whatever’s available that will fit all of us, probably a cargobob if you can find one.  We’ll pick up Matt and head back to the airstrip where we lifted off.  I’ll deliver Tuggey to Jack, you assholes can go back to prison, and we can forget all of this ever happened.”

 

“It’s a good plan, but I’m not going back to prison,” Geoff shook his head.

 

“Uh, yes you are,” Michael snorted.  “Did you forget the part where if you piss me off, I’ll blow your fucking head off?”  He held up the device he had in his hand, which had all of their pictures on it, just waiting for Michael to pick them off.

 

“You don’t have the balls,” Ray commented.  “Good plan, though, dude.  I like that this one doesn’t have me riding bitch on a motorcycle at any point in it.”

 

"You only ride bitch on Ryan's motorcycle," Jeremy interjected.  Ray wasn't fazed by the comment, merely snorting and continuing to lean on Geoff while playing Pokemon.

 

“If Ryan were here, I would work it in, don't worry,” Michael threw back.  Ray just shrugged, but exchanged a look with Geoff.  If Ryan was coming, there was no need for Michael to know about it.

 

“So bitter, Michael,” Gavin said.  “I think your plan is lovely.”

 

“I think my plan is designed to get you killed as quickly as possible,” Michael shot back.  “And if Ryan _does_ show up, because I don’t trust you two over there together for one second, I’ll make sure his ass goes to prison too.”

 

“You can try,” Ray sang, bordering on delighted, as he continued to play on his DS.

 

Michael was undoubtedly a pussy.  He knew his odds of escaping this were low even if the FAKEs didn’t turn on him.  But he wasn’t about to blow any of them up before he had to.  He really did need them to recover Lindsay.  The assholes had stolen her right out of _his bed_ while he was sleeping.  It had taken all of five minutes for him to wake up enough after hanging up with Jack to remember she’d spent the night with him.  They’d gotten very bevved and Michael couldn’t remember the events at first, but they’d come screaming back.

 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the first thing Ray would do would be get a message to Ryan.  It wasn’t comforting that the Mad King was most likely headed their way, but Michael was fairly certain that he would just take Ray with him and leave the rest of the crew to fend for themselves.  Geoff probably knew that too – probably why he was so antsy.  The only reason Ryan wasn't in prison with the rest, was that it was much, much, _much_ more satisfying to Jack (and Michael) to separate the R &R Connection.  Ray could have kept going without Ryan.  That's just who he was.  Ryan was devastated - mentally and emotionally.  Jack loved her revenge.

 

On the other hand, there was a small chance that Ryan would want to partake in their heist, simply for the carnage.  Fine.  Whatever.  Michael would probably have to call in favors like a motherfucker to not get fired when Jack found out he’d let the the pair of them get away scot-free, but Michael was looking out for his own ass in this too.


	3. 18 Months Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternately titled, in which Michael goes undercover with the FAKEs, Ray gets super caffeinated, Ryan gets overruled, and Gavin gets a new boi. Also thank you to everyone that's read this so far and an apology this chapter took me so long. Writing Gavin properly is more difficult than I would have thought.

**=18 MONTHS AGO=**

 

“Do you understand your mission?” Jack asked.  Michael nodded, still looking through his briefing materials.  “Any questions?”

 

“No, ma’am,” Michael said.

 

“Cut the ma’am shit, I’m your boss, I’m not 80,” Jack replied.  “Deep cover can be dangerous, Jones.  Are you absolutely certain you can handle this assignment?”

 

“Course,” Michael said.  “I’m only trying to take down the most dangerous crew in Los Santos if not the fucking country, something even you couldn’t pull off, but, nah, what could go wrong?”

 

“You’re mouthy, kid,” Jack warned.

 

“What did you expect, hiring an asshole from New Jersey?” Michael asked.  “This is a suicide mission.”

 

“You’re the best guy we have for this, Michael,” Jack said softly.  “You can pull this off.  I know you.”

 

Despite Jack’s personal vendetta against them, the FAKEs seemed alright.  It wasn’t as if they were just going to invite him into the penthouse on his first day, but after two different incidents involving mass destruction, Michael knew he was on their radar.

 

“Dude, it’s not my first day on the streets, why are you tailing me?” Michael asked seemingly no one, who was sometimes just a flash of purple or a glint of bright pink, but had been following Michael for at least three days now, and it was starting to annoy.  Michael was trying to stake out his next job, but the mysterious shadow was grinding his last nerve.

 

“You work alone?” came a voice from nowhere.

 

“Most mercs do,” Michael said, double checking his pistol to make sure it was loaded and ready.  He might be able to get one shot on this guy if he had to.  “What’s it to you?  You got a job for me?”

 

“This is FAKE territory,” the voice informed him.

 

“Looks pretty real to me,” Michael continued, bored with the conversation.

 

“The Fake AH Crew,” mysterious voice clarified, sounding slightly offended Michael didn’t immediately know what he was talking about.

 

“Okay, do the FAKEs have a job for me?” Michael asked.  “If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave me the fuck alone.”

 

“I’d be careful if I were you,” ominous voice warned.

 

“K, thanks, fuck off please,” Michael rolled his eyes.

 

Michael pulled off his third successful one-man job that night, leaving the place in flames.  He wasn’t great at sniping, stealth, or close range weapons, but the one asset he did have was something the FAKEs didn’t:  chaos.  Sure, the Mad King caused chaos and destruction in his wake, but it was more of a side effect of his rage than anything else.  Michael could create chaos and destruction without the wake of bodies, and it sent more of a subtle message than the Vagabond.  Michael rolled into bed pleased with his work, and the next morning, he had a very unwelcome visitor _inside_ the shitty apartment he’d been set up with temporarily.

 

“How long have you been here?” Michael demanded.

 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”  It was the voice from last night, only the voice was a skinny Hispanic with glasses, a purple hoodie, pink sniper rifle, and a pink Nintendo DS.  “I dunno, a few hours.  Thought you might be an early riser.  My bad.  Are the Red Bulls in the fridge for anybody?  Because I drank two.”

 

“Why are you here?” Michael asked, annoyed.

 

“I thought this chair looked more comfortable than the concrete roof across the street I’ve been watching you from,” the kid said with a shrug.  “Seriously about the red bulls, though, I had two.  I kind of figured they were for anybody, but I’ll replace them if you’re worried about it.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Michael muttered.  “Just tell me why you’ve been following me and why you broke into my house and I’ll throw in another Red Bull for free.”

 

“Sweet,” the kid said, finally looking up from his DS.  “You sure are a pal.  Geoff will love having you around.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, yeah, um, see, you’ve been doing a lot of next level shit in FAKE territory, so the boss wants to see you.  We kind of have a bet going, Lil J has his money on the boss killing you, but I think he just wants to recruit you.”  The kid stuffed his DS in his pocket as he got up from the chair, throwing the sniper rifle across his back, and headed out to the kitchen.  Michael pulled on the first pair of jeans he found on the floor and followed the nuisance out to the kitchen, where said nuisance was rummaging through Michael’s refrigerator.

 

“You got a name, asshole?” Michael asked.

 

“BrownMan,” the kid grinned, “but you can call me Ray.”

 

“Alright, Ray, I really appreciate you coming over and keeping me company while I sleep and shit, but you can tell your boss I’m not interested in what he has to say,” Michael said.  Lied, really.  Jack had told him just what to say and do to get them to pull him into their inner circle.  “Mogar flies solo.”

 

“Los Santos is a dangerous city if you don’t know the right people,” Ray continued.

 

“Is that a threat?” Michael asked.  Ray shrugged innocently, pocketing the Red Bull Michael had actually told him he could have.

 

“Not saying I’m the right people, not saying we know each other,” Ray said.  “Not saying you have to come with me either.  Sniper rifles are not easy to use at close range, but your bedroom window doesn’t have any curtains and there’s eight different places I can easily scope you from out there.”

 

“Is that a threat or a suggestion that curtains might save my life?” Michael asked.

 

“Oh, no, the curtains won’t save your life at all, but they would make this place look lived in.  How long have you been here?  A week?  Two, at the most,” Ray said, looking around.  “You’re still on your first bag of trash, dude.  What have you been doing?”

 

“What’s it to you?” Michael asked.  That’s the line he shouldn’t have crossed right there, because Ray pulled a pistol out of his jeans and pointed it at him.

 

“The boss wants to see you and I deliver,” Ray said.  “Let’s go.”  Michael didn’t put up any more protests, even though he thought there was a good chance he could get the gun from Ray.  Ray held him at gunpoint all the way into a car that was parked in the alley around back, thankfully not shooting when Michael had grabbed his brown leather jacket.  “Trevor, wake the fuck up, let’s go, I’ve got him.”  He nudged Trevor awake and Trevor started.  “Hey, asshole, nice sleeping on the job.  Geoff’s gonna fucking replace you with Kerry one of these days.”  Michael supposed that may have been an insult if he really knew who Trevor or Kerry were.  They weren’t in Jack’s briefing material, so they must have been new to the crew or not deemed threats in Jack’s eyes. 

 

Michael knew all about BrownMan, of course.  Deadly with a sniper rifle.  Frighteningly accurate shots that most trained army snipers couldn’t dream of making.  Blah, blah, blah.  B-to-the-o-r-i-n-g.  Michael wasn’t scared of the Puerto Rican sniper.  Said sniper’s boyfriend, however…  The Mad King was a little scary.  Mostly because he killed first and rarely asked questions.

 

Trevor drove Ray and Michael to a warehouse – smart, not the penthouse.

 

“Don’t fucking shoot him,” a voice could be heard with the barest crack halfway through.  Ray sighed.  “Gavin, I swear if you kill another new hire, I will bench you.”

 

“Okay, the surprise is ruined, thanks, Geoff!” Ray yelled as they entered the warehouse.  “I brought the dude.  I’m not in this anymore.”  Ray cracked open his Red Bull and took a sip before offering it to the dude in the skull mask and dad jeans that was leaning on Geoff’s chair.   Skull mask shook his head.  Ray shrugged and continued drinking, continuing across the room to a ladder that led up to the low catwalk, probably for a better sniping vantage point.  Just in case.  Michael wasn’t planning on running.  This was exactly where he wanted to be.  He just couldn’t let them know it.

 

“That was one time, Geoff,” Gavin complained, checking the safety on his golden pistol.

 

“It was three times,” Skull mask informed him, holding out his hand for Gavin’s pistol, which Gavin handed over, scowling.

 

“Hi?” Michael said to the room at large, as it would seem they’d all forgotten he was even there.

 

“Welcome!” Geoff said, turning his attention on Michael.  “Let’s get right to it.  What’s your deal?”

 

“Last time I checked, your name wasn’t on the gas station I blew up,” Michael shot back.  “What’s _your_ deal?”

 

“Are you a spy?  Are you from Funhaus?  Or Screw Attack?” Skull mask asked.

 

“No, are you?” Michael retorted.

 

“No, we’re the Fake AH Crew, you dope,” Gavin replied.  Geoff groaned audibly.

 

“Gavin, go wait with TreyCo,” Geoff snapped.  Gavin whined mostly inaudible British things as he dragged his feet out of the warehouse.  Geoff and Skull mask were the only ones left in front of Michael.  Ray was up on the catwalk with a pink rifle trained on him.  The only other person in the warehouse was a small figure standing in the shadows, not doing a great job of hiding in his orange and purple outfit and green hair, but whatever.  “I have a proposal for you, kid.”

 

“Does it involve money, old man?” Michael asked.  If Geoff could dish it out, he'd better be able to take it, because no one called Michael Jones ‘kid’, except maybe Jack.  And if anyone here was a kid, it was definitely Ray.

 

“If you’re successful, you’ll be paid,” Geoff said.

 

“Okay, what is it?” Michael asked, somewhat wary even though this was exactly what his mission was.

 

“What’s your name?” Geoff asked.

 

“Mogar.”

 

“No, idiot, your real name,” Geoff said.

 

“Mogar’s fine.”

 

“Okay,” Geoff sighed.  “I could use someone with your skills for a big heist, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”

 

“Well, I’ll tell you I’ve got a few grenades in my jacket and I haven’t used them yet,” Michael offered.

 

“No you don’t,” Ray called down from above.  Michael frowned, sticking his hands in his pockets and coming up empty.

 

“Okay, he stole my grenades,” Michael said.

 

“What?  I don’t trust you.  I saw what you did to that gas station.  This dude’s got a minigun.  It’s fuckin beast,” Ray continued.

 

“How did you get a minigun?” Geoff asked in surprise.  Michael shrugged.  “No, seriously, how did you get a minigun?”

 

“I know a guy,” Michael said.  “And he said fuck you you’re not getting this minigun for less than 10 mil, so I slit his fucking throat and took it for free.”

 

“Told you we should have tried that,” Skull mask mused quietly.

 

“Shut up,” Geoff snapped at him.  “Mogar, I’m gonna need you to shut your ears for a minute while I talk to these assholes for a second.”

 

“Oh, yeah, right, I forgot, we’re all still in kindergarten,” Michael scoffed.

 

“Exactly like kindergarten, except Ray will shoot you if you don’t do it,” Geoff said.  Ray gave the thumbs up while taking a sip of his red bull, and Michael rolled his eyes and he turned around and covered his ears, knowing this was either a trap or a very bad move on the FAKEs part.  “I want him.”

 

“He doesn’t seem interested,” Ryan replied.

 

“Neither was Lil J when we recruited him, and look how much that’s changed,” Ray supplied.

 

“Freelancers are supposed to be afraid of joining crews,” Lil J chimed in.  “It’s the freelancer code.  Right, Ray?”

 

“I never would have joined if you hadn’t convinced Ryan,” Ray said.

 

“We don’t know if we can trust him,” Ryan said.

 

“The idiot is standing with his back turned to us and his hands over his ears, unarmed,” Geoff said.  “If anything, he’s just a more capable Gavin.”

 

“The last time we hired someone we didn’t know if we trusted, we got Jack,” Ryan pointed out.

 

“One, Jack was a female, and we don’t take those anymore,” Geoff said.  “Two, how many times do I have to tell you, Jack wasn’t a plant, she turned traitor to us because the FIB offered her as many jets as she wanted.”

 

“Anyone who can be easily swayed by the offer of just jets isn’t a good recruit, Geoff,” Ryan replied.

 

“Well, probably this guy doesn’t want jets,” Geoff said.  “Look at him.  He’s just a freelancer with a go-get-em attitude.  More than I can say for most of you assholes.”

 

“Put it to a vote,” Lil J suggested.

 

“I vote to recruit him,” Ray said immediately.  “He’s good at what he does, and if he turns on us, we have the firepower to take him down.”

 

“I vote yes,” Lil J said.

 

“Gavin and Matt say yes,” Ray reported.

 

“Okay, we’ll take him,” Ryan said.  He threw a small knife in Michael’s direction and it whizzed right by his head, so close it nicked the skin on his right hand as it covered his ear. 

 

“Jesus!” Michael shouted, turning back around and pulling his hands away from his ears.  “What the fuck, man?”

 

“Chill, Ry’s real good with knives.  If he wanted to hit you, he would’ve,” Ray said.

 

“He _did_!” Michael complained.

 

“Yeah, definitely a more capable Gavin,” Lil J said, still in his corner.

 

“If that’s an insult, I’m coming for you next,” Michael shot at him.

 

“Nah, he’s a Gent, for sure,” Geoff said.  “We need another Gent.”  Michael rolled his eyes.

 

“Am I free to go, or?” Michael asked.

 

“No,” Geoff, Ryan, and Ray all said at once.

 

“Okay,” Michael sighed.

 

“He’s right, though, this warehouse is kind of bland.  Let’s take him home,” Geoff said.  “Is everything set up?”

 

“Uh…” Ray checked his phone, one of the many things he was doing at once, besides playing on his DS, drinking his red bull, and keeping his rifle ready to shoot Michael if necessary.  “Matt says it’s all set.  And his name’s Michael Jones.  Middle name Vincent.  Clean record, impressive for a merc.”

 

“Not that impressive, just don’t get fucking caught,” Michael said.

 

“Any ties to the FIB?” Geoff asked, but looking directly at Ryan.

 

“Not that Matt sees,” Ray read off his phone.  “Are we going?”

 

“Yeah, get down here,” Geoff said, starting towards the doors.  Ray shoved his cell and DS in his pockets, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and slid down a rope hanging from the catwalk, still holding his can of red bull in one hand.  He made it look so easy.  “Do we have to threaten you, or are you going to come with us?” Geoff threw at Michael.  Michael shrugged and made to follow Geoff and Ryan.  Ray and Lil J followed behind him.

 

“I wish we had a Roosevelt,” Ray said.  “Don’t you think it’d make the perfect AH-mobile for six?”

 

“Who would drive it?” Geoff asked.

 

“I don’t know.  Anybody.  Ryan,” Ray shrugged.  “I’m sick of riding bitch on a motorcycle.  There’s no protection from the cops.  And bullets _hurt_.”

 

“What about the people who have to hang off the side of the Roosevelt?” Lil J asked.

 

“Good point, you and Ryan should probably be the ones hanging off the sides,” Ray said.  “Maybe Michael could drive.”

 

“Just shut up,” Geoff sighed, indicating all of the assholes get into the car next to him.  Ryan took the driver’s seat, Geoff took the passenger, which left Michael sandwiched between Ray and Lil J in the backseat.  The drive was uneventful, highlighted only by Ray and Lil J’s continued bickering about vehicles.  When they finally arrived in downtown, Geoff led the way into a nice looking apartment building and punched in the code for the penthouse.

 

The doors chimed open at the top, where Gavin and Trevor were waiting for them.

 

“Are you bleeding?” Gavin immediately zeroed in on Michael’s right hand which still stung from the slice from Ryan’s knife throwing.

 

“Ry got him a little bit,” Ray shrugged. 

 

“I’m fine,” Michael mumbled, but Gavin ran to the kitchen to get a wet cloth and wash Michael’s hand for him.  It had since stopped bleeding, as it was barely a scrape, but there was dried blood on his knuckles.  “I said I’m fine.”

 

“Try not to punch anyone until it heals up nice,” Gavin suggested.  “It really hurts to rip open a fresh scar.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, not my first day,” Michael shook his hand out of Gavin’s grip.  The rest of the crew seemed to have nonchalantly dispersed into the couch and TV area of the open living plan situation of the penthouse.  “Why am I here?”

 

“Cuz you work for us now,” Gavin said.

 

“When did I agree to that?” Michael asked.

 

“When I said you did,” Geoff called from the couch.  Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say to refute that statement, and besides, his mission was to join the FAKEs and gain their trust.  Step one, done as far as he could tell.

 

“I’ll show you to your room, Michael,” Gavin soothed.  Michael frowned at the way Gavin’s accent butchered his name.  “It’s right next to mine.  We’re practically roommates.”

 

“K, but we’re _not_ roommates, right?” Michael asked.  The Brit was already getting on his nerves.

 

“Only if you want to be,” Gavin offered.  “You seem like a right nice boi.  Are you my boi, Michael?”

 

“Uh… sure,” Michael agreed.  Something in his head short circuited from the combination of Gavin being practically wrapped around him and talking right into his ear.  Gavin had his left arm around Michael’s back, and Michael’s right hand in his own as he steered them to Michael’s room.  Upon arrival, Michael saw, not to his surprise in the slightest, that the FAKEs had taken the liberty of moving all his shit from his apartment to his new room in the penthouse.  “Free moving service, gotta like that.”

 

“Being in the FAKEs is the best, boi, you’ll love it,” Gavin said, letting go of Michael finally when they were standing next to the bed.  “I’m Gavin.  You’re Michael.”

 

“Yeah, I’m your boi,” Michael said, uncertainly, looking around at all his shit, which wasn’t a whole lot, and not seeing any of his weapons.  “Did you do the moving, or?”

 

“I helped,” Gavin nodded.  “Why?  Is something missing, boi?”

 

“Where are my guns and shit?” Michael asked.  Gavin turned around three times, looking for them.

 

“I don’t know,” Gavin admitted.

 

“So Geoff has my minigun,” Michael deduced.  “That fuck.”

 

“He’ll give it back, Michael.  He doesn’t want you assassinating anyone before he trusts you,” Gavin said.  “He took my gun too.  He’s a right prick sometimes, but he knows what’s best for the crew.”

 

“I don’t need a gun to assassinate anyone,” Michael said.  “Trust me.”  Gavin sat on the bed next to Michael, pushing their shoulders, hips, and knees together as they sat side by side.  Michael looked at the body touching his.  Gavin put his left arm back around Michael’s neck and let it hang.

 

“You’re so lovely, Michael,” Gavin sighed.  “We’re going to be best bois, I just know it.”


	4. So Much for Team Much Respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back in the 'present day' folks.

“I’m only saying, I don’t care if he was a plant, he was damn good in our crew,” Gavin said.  Geoff resisted the urge to pistol whip him (again).

 

“I am so glad we have separate cells,” Geoff scowled as he passed Gavin and walked over to Ray, who was ignoring the hubbub of the pre-heist quite spectacularly, sitting on the ground against a brick wall where there was an outlet with two plugs.  In one plug, there was an orange extension cord that ran to Matt’s portable setup, in the other plug was the charger for Ray’s DS.  “What does Ryan have to say?”

 

“He misses me and he’s sorry he hasn’t found me,” Ray recited happily without looking up from his screen.

 

“Why are you so happy?  So you get to see him, then he’s coming back to prison with us,” Geoff said.

 

“Oh, I see,” Ray said, looking up for the first time since they’d left the air strip where they’d locked and loaded.  “You think I’m going back to prison.”  A shit-eating grin grew on Ray’s face.  “Geoff, let me explain you something.”  Ray set his DS down on the grass and stood up, dusting off his jeans as he did.  “This is how this heist is actually going to go.  In the chaos of gunning down this crew, Ry’s going to come in, guns blazing.  Which is fine for our plan, it only creates more firepower for Michael to get back who cares that these dudes have.  Matt’s already hacking the signal for these neck bombs, if they’re even real.  Gavin can sweettalk Michael into anything he wants, we already know that.  Trevor and Matt can create a false recording of events, and _whoops_ , I guess we all disappeared back to Los Santos with Ryan, Kerry, Caleb, and Andy.  No trace.  Weird.  They won’t be getting us again.  Fuck Michael.  Fuck Jack.  If I get a clear shot on either one of them, you know I’m going to take it.”

 

“It’s not your fault we got caught,” Geoff told him.

 

“Yes, it is,” Ray said angrily, stamping his foot.  “I had the shot and I didn’t take it.”

 

“I told you not to take the shot,” Geoff said.  “I’m the leader, I call the shots.  I know, I trust people too easily.  I fucked up the first time, with Jack, I should not have let that bitch get so close to me.”

 

“When we get back to the city, you’ll see her again,” Ray said.  The ‘her’ in question was not Jack, but Geoff’s daughter, the only thing he really cared about.  Geoff scoffed.

 

“Grif’s right, you know.  I’m an alcoholic and I kill people for a living.  I’m not cut out to be a parent,” Geoff said with a sigh.  Ray shook his head.

 

“If I get one asshole out of here besides myself and Ry, it’ll be you,” Ray promised.

 

“Obviously,” Geoff agreed.  “Team Go Fuck Yourself.”  Ray nodded.  “We need a solid plan.”  Ray looked around for Michael, spotting him with the blue-haired agent chick (Meg?), Matt, and TreyCo over by the computer equipment.  Ray sat back down on the ground and patted the space next to him a few times.

 

“Step into my office, boss,” Ray said.

 

Across the yard, Gavin had found Jeremy to complain to, as everyone else was occupied and no one really trusted him to be doing anything important.

 

“Don’t you think Michael was good with us?” Gavin asked Jeremy.

 

“Objectively, sure, if he wasn’t a FIB agent, he’d be a good merc,” Jeremy said.  “Nothing you’re going to say to him is going to convince him to pull the double traitor on the FIB.  You remember Jack better than I do, she’s a scary woman.”

 

“Nah,” Gavin scoffed.  “I’m not scared of her.”

 

“You’re scared of everything,” Jeremy replied.

 

“That’s not true!” Gavin protested.  “Jack was just another mingey bint after Geoff’s dick.”

 

“I don’t know what that means,” Jeremy shook his head.  Gavin rolled his eyes.

 

“Jeremy, don’t be a pleb,” Gavin reproved him, moving on from Jeremy to try to bother the rest.  Michael saw Gavin approaching and muttered an apology to Meg as he ducked out of the conversation she was having with the other techies about something Michael was never going to understand.  “Michael, my boi!”

 

“We went over this in the plane, I’m not your boi, I never was your boi,” Michael said, monotone and annoyed at having to repeat this multiple times to get it through Gavin’s thick skull.  “I was hired by your crew’s archenemy to arrest you, and I did what I had to do to get the job done.  Anything I did when I was undercover was not real.”

 

“But Michael…” Gavin said, sadly, one of the most frequent things Michael could ever recall him saying, and he very rarely had an end to the sentence.

 

“Don’t but Micoo me,” Michael said.  Before he could say anything else, a missile went shooting through the air above them loudly, and exploded not too far from where the assholes were supposedly holding Tuggey hostage.  “Great, there goes our cover.  That better not fuckin be Ryan.”  He left Gavin, sprinting the short distance over to Ray and glaring at him and Geoff obviously conspiring against him, sitting on the ground against the brick wall.  “What the fuck was that?”

 

“Why are you asking us?  Do you see either of us in a Lazer?” Geoff asked.  “Call the Air Force.  You must have their phone number.”

 

“I’m not fucking talking to you,” Michael shot at Geoff.  Geoff got an offended look on his face, (something that said ‘so much for Team Much Respect'), and Michael continued to look at Ray.

 

“What?” Ray asked, looking up.  “Oh, it wasn’t me.”

 

“You’re the only one here who can control the fucking Mad King,” Michael practically snarled.  “If that was him, he is blowing our cover.”

 

“Oh… yeah… I don’t care,” Ray practically sang laughing.

 

“Matt, do you have a good view yet?” Michael yelled.

 

“Two minutes, boss,” Matt shouted back.

 

“Lock and load, assholes, we’re going in,” Michael addressed everyone else.  “Gavin, if you fuck this up, you will wish you were dead.”

 

“Is it bad that I sort of already do?” Gavin asked, but no one answered.  “Okay, good.”

 

There was a dumpster against the far wall of the brick space they had parachuted into.  Michael gave Jeremy a boost so he could jump up on it, then followed him, with the rest behind him.  Michael rolled his eyes, and boosted Lil J up once again so he could grab the top of the wall, then jumped and pulled himself onto it, looking for the first time at the scene without a screen.  At face value, it was another run of the mill shitty gang holed up in the desert, though it wasn’t any gang Michael had ever heard of, but if they had beef with FIB agents…  well, Lindsay had gotten herself into some shit with some gangs in the past.

 

“Ready?” Michael asked Lil J.  Jeremy nodded and jumped down onto the pavement below them.  Michael followed, Meg right behind him.

 

“Oh, my ankles!” Gavin exclaimed as he dropped down.

 

“For fucks sake, it’s a brick wall.  It’s not even part of the heist,” Michael muttered.

 

“Sorry, Michael,” Gavin replied quietly.

 

“Do we have the plan?” Michael asked everyone.

 

“No,” was the general consensus and Michael sighed heavily.

 

“Gav and I are heading in first to light up the place.  Meg, you can come with us.  Ray….  Good God.  Just…  just stay long enough to cover us, okay?” Michael sighed.

 

“No promises,” Ray piped up, hiking his sniper rifle higher onto his shoulder.

 

“Lil J, you’re on second duty sniping,” Michael said.  “Geoff, you’re with Lil J on the rear defense.  All these guys, dead.  All of them.  Then we head into the building with whoever’s still alive to get her out.”

 

Michael started throwing stickies around as soon as he breached the perimeter of the gang’s base.  Gavin threw a few molotovs and some cans of tear gas towards the main building.  A rocket came flying out of a protected corner, directly between Michael and Gavin, exploding behind the pair of them.  Michael glared over to that corner, but didn’t alter his plan at all.

 

“We’ve made a right mess of this place,” Gavin said, looking at the smoking carnage of this guy’s front yard.

 

“Yeah, but where are the guys?” Michael asked.  No one had ever come out of the building to oppose them.  He didn’t see Ray either, but wasn’t surprised.

 

“Maybe it’s a trap?” Meg suggested.

 

“Alright.  Get Geoff and Lil J, we’re heading in,” Michael said.

 

“Probably wouldn’t if I were you,” came the voice of the Mad King from the corner of the yard.  He stepped into their view, a rocket launcher over his right shoulder and his left arm around Ray’s shoulders.  He had facepaint, but no mask.  Michael let out a deep rage-filled sigh.

 

“Ryan, just take him and get out of here.  I don’t have time for this,” Michael chewed the inside of his cheek to keep his voice even.

 

“I’m afraid your princess is in another castle,” Ryan grinned.  Michael’s chest did that thing where it feels like all your blood has drained out of your heart and it hurts like a bitch.

 

“What does that mean?  What did you do to her?” Michael asked, gripping the sticky bomb in his hand a little tighter.

 

“Well… nothing, actually,” Ryan said, surprised, the grin slipping off his face.  “There’s no one here.  It’s just empty.  It was empty when I got here.”

 

“We have bad intel,” Michael said to Meg.  “Get back to Matt and Trevor, see if you guys can hack local satellites, anything that can tell us where they went.”  Meg nodded.  “And take Gavin with you.”

 

“Aww,” Gavin sighed, but grudgingly went with Meg back into the safety of their former brick enclosure.  Sure, Gavin was annoyed at having to miss out on the fight, but if the boys encountered any encryption on local satellite feeds, CCTV, or anything at all, they would need Gavin’s skills to get through it.

 

“Alright, what do you know?” Michael asked Ryan.

 

“Nothing,” Ryan said, just as bewildered as Michael felt.  Michael felt his inner rage reaching the threshold and fought to keep it down.

 

“Are you guys gonna fuck off or are you gonna stick around?” Michael asked, more directed at Ray than anything.

 

“What do you think, darlin?” Ryan asked Ray, a slight southern twang on his last word.

 

“I like a good fight as much as the next guy,” Ray said.  “Are you sure this place is empty, Ry?”

 

“Kerry said he didn’t detect any heat signatures,” Ryan replied.

 

“Yeah, but that’s Kerry,” Geoff interjected from behind Michael where he and Lil J were sort of waiting for a command, whether it be from Michael or Ryan, they didn’t seem to care.  Kerry, Caleb, and Andy were the last remaining members of the FAKEs, the ones not important enough to require federal prison, and had been left for the LSPD to take care of, which, of course, had meant they’d been back on the streets within a week or two.  They were all kind of useless in their own ways, but they all had their merits.  Caleb was in charge of B-Team recruitment, Andy did clean up, and Kerry was the guy they usually called as a substitute when someone else was inevitably in jail or otherwise incapacitated and unable to do a heist.  Kerry was one of the members of the A-Team before even Jack had joined, but apparently ‘couldn’t hack it’ and had voluntarily resigned.  The only reason he wasn’t dead was that Ryan, of all people, took pity on him.

 

“Alright, we’re going in,” Michael said, switching from a sticky bomb to his AP Pistol.  “Blah, blah, blah, figure it out, I’m not your babysitter, shoot anyone you see unless she’s a hot blonde federal agent.  Then maybe ask questions first.”

 

“Exactly my style,” Ryan said, letting go of his boyfriend for a moment so he could switch from his rocket launcher to a micro-SMG.  Ray swapped his sniper rifle for an AP pistol of his own.  Geoff and Jeremy followed suit.  The five of them approached the door that was hanging off its hinges because of the previous explosions in the courtyard.

 

“Anyone want to volunteer to go first?” Michael asked.

 

“Sure,” Ray shrugged, kicking the door aside and stepping in.  Ryan went after him.  Michael saw the other two inside and brought up the rear. 

 

Ray and Ryan spoke to each other quietly as they went through the halls of the compound.  It wasn’t a warehouse as they’d expected, but more of a labyrinth of hallways.  The other three split up, and as Kerry had assured them, didn’t see anyone.  Minutes dragged on and Michael continued to check every room he found, but saw no one.

 

“No!  No, don’t shoot!” came Ray’s voice, screaming for mercy from some unknown subject.  Michael ran towards the voice, around three corners and finally into a larger space where a few hallways seemed to intersect.  Ray was standing with his hands up, guns on the floor around him.  Michael looked to the other side of the room.  Ryan was on his knees with his hands on his head, similarly unarmed.  Then he saw the woman holding a gun on him.  “Please, lady, come on, we’re only here to rescue some bitch.”

 

“This is the bitch we’re rescuing,” Michael said, lowering his gun immediately, and entering the room.  “What the fuck happened here, Linz?”  The gun she’d previously been holding on Ryan, turned to Michael.  “Whoa, whoa, it’s me, Michael.”

 

“Michael?” she asked.

 

“Wait, Lindsay?” Ryan asked, turning his head to look at her, now that the gun wasn’t pointed at him or Ray.  Her gun immediately swiveled back to Ryan and he froze again.  Uncharacteristic for him, he usually laughed in the face of death.

 

“Lindsay?” Ray asked, putting his hands down from surrender.  “We’re rescuing _Lindsay_?  Why does the FIB care about Lindsay?”

 

“Guys, shush,” Michael said, moving towards Lindsay.  “Linz, are you okay?  What did they do to you?”

 

“I… I don’t know,” Lindsay said slowly.

 

“Drop the gun, Linz, no one’s going to hurt you,” Michael said to her, in a soothing tone of voice.

 

“They’re everywhere,” Lindsay said.  Michael looked around.  No one was anywhere besides the R&R connection.  Geoff and Jeremy were somewhere in the building, but not near them.  Knowing them, they were probably gotten lost five feet from the entrance.

 

“There’s something wrong with her, we have to get her out of here,” Michael said to Ryan.  An explosion rocked the room and the ceiling started falling.  Michael dove to protect Lindsay.  Ryan dodge rolled into a hallway.  Ray didn’t move at all, just stared, as the roof caved in completely.

 

A helicopter crashed through the roof and landed gracelessly on the floor of the room, exactly where they’d been standing seconds before.  In the driver’s seat was Gavin.

 

“Hey, boi.  How’s it going?” Gavin asked over the sound of the chopper’s blades still whirring.

 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Michael seethed, but pulled Lindsay up from the ground with him and helped her into the back of the helicopter.  “Comin?” he asked Ray.

 

“What about Ryan?” Ray asked.

 

“Not my responsibility,” Michael shouted over the noise.  Ray shook his head and started picking up his guns.  “Fine.”

 

“Get in the chopper, X-Ray,” Gavin called, cheerily.  Ray seemed to consider his options, then trudged to the chopper door and got in the front seat.

 

“Get us out of here,” Michael said to Gavin, and the chopper, somehow unhurt in any way, lifted off.

 

Gavin sort of landed the chopper back near Matt’s set-up and they all hopped out.

 

“Found anything?” Michael asked, but froze when every weapon in the courtyard was pointed at him.  He looked around and saw Meg with on her knees, hands up in surrender, with Geoff pressing a gun against her back.  “Whoa, whoa, Geoff, guys, come on.”

 

“Matt fixed us,” Jeremy said, not putting down the pistol he had aimed at Michael.  “You can’t blow us up and we’re going for Jack.  You done fucked up real good.”

 

“You can cooperate or you can die,” Geoff said.  “We don’t take kindly to traitors in the Fake AH Crew.”

 

“Well.  This is unexpected,” came the voice from behind Michael.  Not for the first time, he just found himself confused as he realized it was _Lindsay_.  Lindsay, who didn’t recognize him five minutes ago.  Lindsay, who was scared of an empty building. 

 

_Lindsay Elise Tuggey, who was a better actress than Michael or Jack had ever been._


	5. 18 (or so) Months Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled "leaving nice comments on works that haven't been updated in months works because I literally left my house in the middle of the night and the freezing cold to go get my notebook which was at my parents house so I could update this all the while screaming the mission impossible theme or at least what i thought was the mission impossible theme". Also alternatively titled "thank you so goddam much to the community, I love every single person who reads what I write, and I'm so thankful for each of you beautiful bastards". Also something like "my plan to drag the raywood fandom back from hell is working".  
> Anyway... I wrote this chapter a few months ago, I'm not going to lie. I was holding off publishing it beCAUSE it's way longer than the other chapters so far and I was looking for a good balance to cut it off but fuck it, I mean, YOLO, right?  
> I'd like to say that I wrote this chapter at the beginning of my short-lived mavin phase (I say short lived like it's over but I actually cried today because I was watching one of the dead by daylight videos and michael went back to save gavin even though he didn't have to) and while we're on the subject, the end result of this is juggey/turnfree with like maybe slightly more than platonic mavinseg, ya feel? Anyway, you're not reading this note anymore, so let's move forward.

=18 OR SO MONTHS AGO=

 

Michael yawned and stretched, vaguely hoping as he always did that the last week or so had been a dream, but no, here he was in the goddamn penthouse of the FAKEs, Gavin on the opposite side of the bed, even though he had his own bedroom.  He insisted he needed to share Michael’s bed ‘for safety’ and even though Michael really wanted to punch him at first, he’d somehow grown to appreciate his company.  Unlike most people Michael had ever known, Gavin never stopped being cheerful, even when Michael had lost his metaphorical gloves and unleashed his full rage on him.  Michael had laid into him for a solid ten minutes, never pausing in his shouting or anger until he couldn’t scream anymore, and Gavin had beamed up at him, offering a bottle of water.

 

“Gav.  You’wake?” Michael asked, voice not really working yet.

 

“Course, boi.  What’s up?” Gavin replied, turning over on the bed to face him, his phone clicking off as he did so.

 

“Do you want to go somewhere?  With me?  Alone?” Michael asked.

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Geoff always makes brunch on Sundays,” Gavin said.

 

“It’s Tuesday,” Michael said, deadpan.

 

“Sure,” Gavin agreed.    Michael wasn’t really sure if it was Tuesday, as all the days seemed to have run together since he’d been in Los Santos, but he couldn’t stay in this penthouse any longer, and he knew Geoff would be suspicious if he went out alone.  Geoff still didn’t fully trust him, and Ryan didn’t trust him _at all_.  Michael was yet to see the Mad King without his infamous skull mask.  The Lads seemed to have taken a liking to him, however, despite the Gents’ continuing distrustfulness, and Ray told everyone within 48 hours that Michael was definitely a Lad and not a Gent.  Geoff had waved him off, rolling his eyes.

 

“Am I really a Lad?” Michael said as he started the engine of the first car he found in the garage, a chrome plated Adder.

 

“Course,” Gavin said.  Michael nodded and pulled onto the street.  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

 

“Math?” Michael guessed with a shrug.  “Two Lads to every Gent is a piss poor way to run heists.  Plus I’ve gotta be way older than the three of you.”

 

“Nah,” Gavin shook his head, dismissing all of those ideas with the single word.  “Where we going, boi?”

 

“Nowhere,” Michael said, weaving in and out of the slow traffic, headed southwest towards the airport.  “Whose car is this?”

 

“Geoff bought it, I think,” Gavin said.  “It’s ugly as nobs.”

 

“Mmm,” Michael hummed in agreement.  “I kinda like it, actually.”

 

Gavin thought he had a way with people and words, but Michael had him exactly where he wanted him within a month.  Where that metaphorical place was, Michael didn’t know.  They had a complicated relationship, to say the least.  Sometimes Gavin sat on Michael’s lap or held his hand while they were in line at Dairy Queen, and Michael let him.  Gavin weighed like seven pounds, and his hands were warm in Michael’s own.

 

But what Michael really got out of Gavin was information.  He’d been with the crew the longest, back when crime was just something Geoff did on the side of trying to be a father and a husband (and Michael had learned that Geoff wasn’t actually bad at either of those things, but people overreact).  Michael mostly learned useless things, like that time Gavin had stuffed 32 mints into Geoff’s mouth for no reason, or how Ryan had once made a Gavin annoyance device, and about how the crew frequently somehow got into games of Monopoly or Uno that seemed to last for months.  Michael learned more than he ever knew he needed to know about Jack, and listened to Gavin’s opinions on whether or not Jack actually fractured Geoff’s life in multiple ways, and how she was obsessed with jets, and no one was honestly surprised when she turned on them.

 

“She was shifty,” Gavin explained, or rather, stated as though that was an explanation.

 

Gavin organized Lads Night, and the four lads played MarioKart and Mario Party and Gavin convinced the others to try to jump rope with their own legs.  Michael casually asked how Ray had met Ryan, and Ray grinned.

 

“Oh, boy, what a tale,” Ray said, eyes glinting.  “He was an inmate at a mental institution slash prison, and I was a young impressionable psychiatrist who wore my heart on my sleeve.  After many sessions, I fell madly in love and helped him stage a mass breakout, during which he viciously tortured me with electricity and turned me into the psycho I am today.”

 

“Really?” Michael asked, thinking that sounded familiar for some reason, though he couldn’t place it.

 

“No!” Ray laughed.  “Do I look like Harley Quinn to you?”

 

“Does he look like he was ever a young impressionable psychiatrist?” Jeremy asked.

 

“Shut up,” Ray shot at him, still laughing.  “No, uh, actually, it’s funny.  We were both solitary mercs, guns and knives for hire, both pretty famous on our own, both trying to climb the crime ladder, to be the one man to rule the city.  I wish it was something hilarious like we were both hired to kill the same person, or each other, or something, but actually, we didn’t even meet as criminals.  We met at GameStop, and realized we had the same taste in video games.  Exchanged emails and shit, started talking, eventually after months of talking to him, I got a call at 3 in the morning, because apparently I’m the only person awake at three in the morning, ‘hey I know it’s bad timing, but can you come pick me up at the police station, I’ll explain later’ to which my actual response was ‘like voluntarily they’re letting you go pick you up or I should bring some back up and bust you out type pick you up’ and Ryan, the piece of shit, said ‘whichever you think is more romantic’.  I showed up with a wad of cash, and he said he was _disappointed_.”

 

“This is the good part, it gets good, Michael, I promise,” Gavin interjected, excited, like he’d heard this story twenty times before and could recite it.

 

“So this fucker starts doing more and more shit to try to get himself arrested, dubs _himself_ the Mad King of Los Santos, throws a one-man riot on the top of the Maze Bank, shoots down every police helicopter with his rocket launcher, trying to create a scenario where I would have to come in and rescue him, guns blazing and shit,” Ray said.  “I never rose to the bait, and sometimes I swear he still tries it, but the LSPD are scared to death of him.  And they should be.  He’s lethal.  At some point, I ended up covering him for a job he was doing, and we sort of realized we were better off as a team.  We made bank, and the two of us, we owned this city.  Geoff made some pretty big offers to get us in his crew.”

 

“What did he offer?” Michael asked.

 

“I can’t tell you, because you’re here for free,” Ray shook his head.

 

“Besides the car,” Michael said, referring to the chrome-plated Adder Geoff had given him.

 

“Wellllll….” Ray said, voice careening off the track.  “It’s only an Adder, everyone has one of those these days.”

 

“It’s no X80,” Jeremy agreed.  “The Rimmy Tim Mobile is sweet.”

 

“We’ve been over this, Rimmy Tim didn’t stick.  You’re Monster Truck,” Ray told him.

 

“You got to pick your name,” Jeremy grumbled.  “You’re not even brown, you’re like the whitest person I know.”  ‘Shockingly Caucasian’ was the term Ray usually used when people met him for the first time.  It gave him better cover.  If cops were looking for BrownMan, any idiot could put together he should probably be darker than a slight tan.  (Ryan theorized maybe if Ray spent more time outside instead of always playing video games indoors, and not completely covered in a huge hoodie when he did go outside, he might be tanner.  Ray ignored him.)

 

“You’re the newbie,” Gavin told him.

 

“Michael’s the newbie,” Jeremy pointed out.

 

“He came with a name,” Ray said.  “It’s like renaming a kid when you adopt it.  Doesn’t go over well.”

 

“I came with a name!” Jeremy protested.  “Rimmy Tim!”

 

“Nah, you are Monster Truck, Lil J,” Gavin said.

 

“Fuck you guys,” Jeremy said, though there was no bite to his words.

 

“So, is Ryan super ugly under the mask or what?” Michael interjected.

 

“Don’t know, he never takes it off,” Ray responded without missing a beat.  Michael frowned at him, but the other two made no objection to this statement.

 

“He bangs you with the mask on?” Michael said.  “Kinky, dude.”

 

“We’re banging?” Ray asked, in shock, but trying not to laugh.  “This is news to me, dude.  I’m gonna tell Ry.  Ry!  Rye!!!”  His yells traveled down the hallway to the bedrooms and Ryan came walking slowly into the living room, possibly yawning, but it was hard to tell under the mask.

 

“What’s up?” Ryan asked.

 

“Are we banging?  Mikey says we’re banging,” Ray told him.  Ryan looked from Ray, to Michael, and back to Ray.

 

“I’m going back to bed,” Ryan said, turning right back around and going back to his room, or rather, the room he and Ray shared.

 

“But are we banging?  I need to know!” Ray asked.

 

“Not if you keep this up,” Ryan called back.

 

“Oh shit, waddup,” Ray said, turning his attention back to the lads and the TV.  “Dudes, this is exciting.  I might get laid tonight.  First time, I hope he’s gentle.  Fingers crossed.”  He crossed his fingers with a sarcastic smile.

 

“New question, has Ray ever been serious in his entire life?” Michael asked Gavin.  All three lads shook their heads no.  “Okay, good to know.”

 

“I wouldn’t say he’s ugly, per se,” Jeremy said, continuing where they’d left off.

 

“Who?  Ryan?  He’s downright gorgeous,” Gavin said.  “Those blue eyes.”

 

“No homo,” Ray joked.

 

“You’re confusing him,” Jeremy told Ray.  Ray shrugged.

 

“I don’t ask you two what’s going on with you,” Ray said to Michael and indicating Gavin.

 

“There’s nothing going on with us,” Michael said.

 

“Oh.  Right,” Ray snorted.  “You were holding hands at Dairy Queen the other day.”

 

“No, we weren’t,” Gavin protested.

 

“I mean, we were,” Michael said, fairly, “but that was all you, Gav.”

 

“My hands were cold,” Gavin changed his story.

 

“It was 84 degrees out,” Ray stated flatly, rolling his eyes as he continued to be the only one focused on the game they were playing.

 

“Gavin’s all but moved into your room,” Jeremy pointed out.

 

“For safety,” Gavin insisted.

 

“Safety from what?” Ray asked.  “You’re an idiot.”

 

“You’re sitting in his lap, right now!” Jeremy exclaimed.  Both Michael and Gavin looked down.  Michael hadn’t even noticed, honestly, it was second nature at this point, and Gavin made no effort to move.

 

“But no homo,” Ray joked again.

 

“Well, Geoff has that ‘no chicks’ rule,” Michael said.

 

“Geoff’s got an ex-wife and Jack,” Jeremy said.  “That’s enough for anyone.”

 

“You got a girl, Lil J?” Ray asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Then shut up,” Ray advised.

 

The FAKE dynamic seemed to have shifted since Jack had been there.  Jack had told Michael that Geoff, or Ramsey as she always referred to him, was the leader, but to Michael, he only seemed to be the leader in name, certainly not in spirit.  The Mad King took the lead on nearly every job, handing out orders like crime royalty.  The queen to his king, BrownMan was easily the second in command, the leader of the Lads, hanging onto Ryan’s every word, and the other lads followed him without question.  Michael took a different approach, however, and decided, since he hadn’t won Ryan’s approval by any means so far, he was going to work on getting Geoff’s.  However it was that the rest of the FAKEs seemed to have overthrown him, Michael saw it was time to rectify that.  The FAKEs had been much less put together under Geoff’s reign, and that was exactly what Michael needed to crack these guys.  He only needed one of the main three to trust him, and Ryan and Ray were too in sync to ever consider a differing opinion.

 

Just his luck, Michael found himself paired with Geoff on a heist, five months into his stint in Los Santos.  Geoff grumbled at first, but Michael was beginning to grow on him, and anyone Gavin liked as much as he liked Michael couldn’t be horrible.  Gavin had pretty good taste, it turned out, and Geoff found himself inviting both Gavin and Michael on a pre-heist bar trip.  Ray and Ryan didn’t drink, Jeremy was working out some kinks with Matt and the B-Team.

 

“Uh-oh,” Geoff said, multiple double shots of whiskey into the night, looking down the bar.

 

“What?” Michael asked.

 

“Oohhhhhhh,” Gavin said, a grin growing on his face.  “Geoffrey sees a lovely lady.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Gav,” Geoff said, turning back to his drink.  “She’s easily half my age.”

 

“And Jack wasn’t?” Gavin grinned.

 

“You hit on her if you want to,” Geoff said.

 

“Do it, you won’t,” Michael joined in the teasing.

 

“No!” Gavin squawked.  “You do it, Michael.”

 

“Okay,” Michael laughed, walking down the bar to talk to the beautiful redhead drinking a beer and watching the game of darts.  “Hey.”

 

“’Hey’ is your pick-up line?” she asked, eyeing him sideways, as though he wasn’t worth turning her head for.

 

“Sure,” Michael said.  “That’s how we do it in New Jersey.  You walk up to a girl, and you’re like hey, and she’s like hey, and you’re like you’re hot, and she’s like don’t touch the goods or I’ll shoot you, and then you run home and cry about it.”  The girl had finally turned to look at him, almost laughing.  “Or that’s what I did.  I can’t speak for everyone.  I’ve heard stories that there was one or two guys who actually managed to get a girl interested, but I don’t have proof.”

 

“What’s your name?” the redhead asked.

 

“Michael,” he replied.  “You?”

 

“Lindsay,” she said.  “You got plans besides making me laugh until I pee my pants or slap you?”

 

“Well, I could take you home and cook you a nice meal, show you I know how to treat a lady, but I don’t,” Michael said.  “I was just gonna go home with my boys and cry over my rejection, but it hasn’t come yet, and I’m unfamiliar with this part of the conversation.  Do you like Pokémon?”

 

“You’re really bad at this,” Lindsay said, smiling.

 

“It’s part of my charm,” Michael shrugged.

 

“I used to bully the kids at my church so they’d give me their Pokémon cards,” Lindsay said.

 

“Daaamn,” Michael said, mostly impressed.  “You went to church?  Fuck that shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Lindsay agreed.

 

“Michael, aren’t you going to introduce me, Michael?” Gavin interrupted, appearing behind Michael’s shoulder.  Michael did his best to keep the instant rage stamped down.  At least, he was pretty sure it was rage.

 

“This asshole is Gavin, we work together.  Gavvers, this is a _female_ , and you know Geoff has a strict no girls allowed policy,” Michael said.  “I can find my own way home if you two wanna head out.”

 

“Actually, I should be heading home,” Lindsay said, and Michael probably didn’t curse out loud, did he?  “I think you promised me a good home-cooked meal, Michael, and I’ll take you up on that.”  Michael, of course, did no such thing, and was probably a terrible cook, but just played along, nodding.  “Now, if you want.”  Lindsay was forward as fuck and Michael was into that shit.

 

“Absolutely,” he said.  He and Lindsay left the bar together, leaving a flabbergasted Gavin to explain the situation to Geoff.

 

Geoff was cranky about it on the heist the next evening, but Michael could not care.  Lindsay was _awesome_.  But Michael had a plan, and it was slowly falling more and more into place.

 

Step 1, get Geoff to trust him completely.

Step 2, get Geoff to let Lindsay into the crew.  Lindsay dabbled in crime herself, and she had some serious skills that would probably impress even Ryan if it came to it.  Plus, she’d be easy enough to convince to jump ship with him when he lit this place up eventually.  Gavin was definitely on the list to convert as well.  He might even let Geoff off.  But the others were definitely getting turned in.

Step 3, where it doesn’t overlap with step 2, silence Gavin.  Either way, Gavin was either going to have to go down or come with, and he wasn’t going to do either quietly.  Michael needed to come up with a plan to button his beak or the whole operation would go under.

Step 4, flip the FAKEs over to Jack.

Step 5, Jack’s revenge.  Whatever she wanted, Michael didn’t care, as long as he, Lindsay, and Gav were somewhere far away from Los Santos.

 

When did Michael start caring about _Gavin_?

 

*

 

“Is Gav coming?” Lindsay asked, when Michael showed up, alone, at her apartment, with a six pack of bottled beer.

 

“I thought we could use the alone time, and I think he’s developing some kind of co-dependent disorder,” Michael said.  “Why, do you want him here?”

 

“I thought you wanted him here?” Lindsay said.

 

“He’s work stuff,” Michael shrugged.

 

“If Ryan hires me, then I’ll be work stuff,” Lindsay said.

 

“But you’re not work stuff,” Michael tried to articulate.  “Because I still want to see you outside of work.”

 

“And when you leave this crew to do whatever it is you do, you’ll still want to see me?” Lindsay asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But not Gavin?” Lindsay asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Michael sighed.  “Gavin’s complicated, forget about Gavin.”

 

Lindsay put something on Netflix (probably the Vampire Diaries, because Michael had said he liked it that one time), and they reclined together on the couch.  Michael usually went to Lindsay’s apartment now when he needed to get away from the penthouse and the crew.  Sometimes it could all be a little much.  They all knew that.  That’s why Jeremy went to visit with Matt, and why Ray and Ryan did jobs sometimes, just the two of them, and why Geoff dragged Gavin to bars.  Being around five other people all the time, even as tight as the FAKEs were, it was exhausting, especially for the introverts in the crew.

 

“Should I pet your hair?” Lindsay asked as Michael shifted to use her as a pillow.

 

“If you want to, but you don’t gotta be such an asshole about it,” Michael said, his New Jersey shining through.  So she did, stroking his hair almost absently as they watched TV.  “Hey, Linz?”

 

“Yeah?” Lindsay responded.

 

“What if Gavin was here?  Would you pet his hair too?” Michael asked.

 

“I think he’d rather you did it,” Lindsay replied.  Michael thought about that for another twenty minutes, but then, “it’s okay to want him around.  It doesn’t make _us_ less of anything.”

 

“I don’t want to get attached to him,” Michael said.  “You’re right.  When I leave Los Santos, I’m not bringing him with me.”

 

“Professionally, you shouldn’t take me either,” Lindsay said.

 

“Professionally, suck a dick,” Michael replied.  Lindsay didn’t know all the details of Michael’s plan, because she seemed gossipy, just that Michael didn’t plan on sticking around forever.  He was a drifter, that’s what he’d told her.  Couldn’t be nailed down.  “I can’t talk to Gavin about anything real, because he talks, especially to Ray and Geoff.”

 

“That’s why I’m here, you can tell me anything,” Lindsay said.

 

“I can’t, though,” Michael said.

 

“Why can’t you?” Lindsay asked.  “Do life and death hang in the balance?”

 

“Maybe,” Michael said.  “I don’t know.  I shouldn’t tell you half the shit I tell you anyway.  Geoff’s right with his no girls allowed policy.  Chicks, man, you’ll do anything for em.”

 

“It’s true,” Lindsay nodded.

 

“I really like it when we just sit here and do this,” Michael said.  “Don’t get me wrong, I like it when we do other stuff too, but I really like this.”

 

“What, just sitting here, not watching Netflix?” Lindsay asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We can do this all the time,” Lindsay said.

 

“I mean, we can’t, because I have to leave and go to work in a bit,” Michael said.

 

“We can quit our jobs, change our names, move to Iowa, and watch Netflix together until we starve together on the couch,” Lindsay suggested.

 

“If I said let’s do that, would you do it?” Michael asked.

 

“If you did,” Lindsay agreed.

 

“If I had a slightly modified version of the plan already, would you agree to that, too?” Michael asked.

 

“How modified?” Lindsay asked.

 

“I don’t know, what if I was a space alien sent here from Venus to suck everyone’s brains out, but I decided I like you, so your brain won’t get eaten.  Would you come back to Venus with me?” Michael asked.

 

“I think I’d die on Venus,” Lindsay said.

 

“No, science is a lie.  You can totally live on Venus,” Michael said.

 

“Then, yeah,” Lindsay said.

 

“What if I was an FIB agent sent here to destroy the Fake AH Crew, and everyone that’s associated with it?” Michael asked.

 

“Space alien seems more likely,” Lindsay said.

 

“Does it?”

 

Lindsay turned her head to look at Michael, and Michael looked up at her as well, understanding seeming to grow between them.

 

“And _if_ that were the case, which I’m not saying it is, that I _were_ a space alien, from Venus, would you want me to make my mission take longer so we could stay here longer, or would you want me to finish it as quickly as possible, so we can go back to Venus?” Michael asked.

 

“Wherever you go, I go,” Lindsay said.  “I am but a slave to your superior alien race.”

 

“That’s not an answer to the question I asked,” Michael said.

 

“Are you really going to suck Gavin’s brain out?” Lindsay asked.

 

“No, he needs to keep what little he has in there,” Michael said.

 

“What if the King of your alien race said you had to, or he would kill you?” Lindsay asked.

 

“Well, the Queen is a real bitch, I’m not gonna lie to you,” Michael said.  “I’d probably have to suck his brain.”

 

“You’d kill Gavin?” Lindsay asked, not believing for a second that Michael would do that.

 

“No, I wouldn’t kill him, he’d still be alive,” Michael said.  “I couldn’t kill Gavin.  I wouldn’t die for him, either, though.  If it was him or me, I’d pick me.  I’ve made it 28 years of my life without him, I’ll make it another 28.”

 

“I guess it’s good it won’t come to that, then,” Lindsay said. 

 

“We hope,” Michael said.  “I have to leave for work.”

 

“Put in a good word for me,” Lindsay smiled as Michael sat up. 

 

He kissed her briefly and said, “I always do.”

 

Through no fault of Michael’s whatsoever, because he hadn’t actually been anywhere near Ray, this heist created a spot for Lindsay in the crew.

 

“Ray’s been hit, I’m taking him to the Bungalow,” Ryan said, panic searing the edges of his words.

 

“Fine,” Geoff snapped back.

 

“What do you want me to do, Geoff, let him bleed out on the concrete?  He needs medical attention, and he needs it now,” Ryan shot back.

 

“And we need you if the rest of us have any chance,” Geoff retorted.  “We know you love the guy, but Gavin can get him to the Bungalow faster than you can, and you’re a hell of a lot more helpful here.”

 

“Excuse me?” Gavin replied.

 

“Fine,” Ryan said.  Michael was in the passenger seat of the helicopter Gavin was (trying to) pilot, and he jumped out as they (sort of) landed on the roof of the building Ray was bleeding out on.  Ryan had ripped his tshirt in multiple places under his jacket to try to pack the two bullet wounds in Ray’s right shoulder, but there was still so much blood.  “Babe.  Hey,” Ryan whispered softly, wiggling his fingers on Ray’s palm.  Ray groaned and opened his eyes for a moment, instantly closing them again.

 

“Ryan,” Ray moaned, making a pitiful move to try to grab him, but unable to do much of anything.

 

“Ray, Gavin is going to fly you out to the Bungalow, and they’ll patch you up.  I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Ryan said.  Michael took position at the corner of the building as the screams from Geoff for backup got louder.  He and Jeremy were getting flattened on the street.  Funhaus did not fuck around with other gangs trying to take their shit, and Fake AH was getting their asses handed to them.  Michael shot a police helicopter down as Ryan carried Ray and set him into the passenger seat of the helicopter, buckling his seatbelt for him.  “Te amo, mi rosa.”

 

Ray mumbled something that was probably, “you know I don’t speak Spanish, asshole,” as Gavin started to liftoff, then “I love you too,” and the helicopter was gone.  Michael looked at Ryan, who had taken his mask off at some point before Michael had landed on the roof, and was now wiping his face, his facepaint smudged around his eyes.  Michael had never realized before how much of a weakness Ryan’s biggest and only weakness was.  Ray and Ryan’s love for each other was going to be their downfall.

 

“The fuck are you looking at?” Ryan almost growled at Michael.

 

“Nothing, man, you good?” Michael asked.

 

“I’m fine,” Ryan said, pulling his mask back on and jumping off the roof to rejoin the battle below.  “Jeremy, where are you?”

 

“Definitely not cornered in an alley, why, what’s up?” Jeremy replied.  Ryan snarled at nothing and ran around the building into the alley in question, taking the two guys cornering Jeremy by surprise and knocking them out cold with a smack from the butt of the pink rifle he was holding.

 

“We still need an eye in the sky, and this battle isn’t ending any time soon,” Ryan said, handing Jeremy the sniper rifle.  Jeremy stared at it in awe for a second, like he’d never been allowed to touch it before, then started taking the stairs to the roof at the speed of parkour.

 

More and more cops were stupidly flooding the scene, getting between the two gangs, just to prove they were the biggest idiots in the city, and a draw was finally called when Michael’s minigun _actually_ ran out of bullets.

 

“It holds _ten thousand_ bullets, what do you mean, you’re out?” Geoff demanded.

 

“I mean, we’ve been here for twenty years, and I’ve shot _ten thousands fucking bullets_ ,” Michael shot back.  “If you hold the trigger down, the whole thing empties in like five minutes.”

 

“Alright,” Geoff said.  “We’re not getting a win here.”

 

“Evac Plan C,” Ryan called, already starting a motorcycle.

 

“Take Michael to the Bungalow with you,” Geoff said, throwing a smoke bomb over a car to cover them as they left the street.

 

“No.”

 

“You can take Michael or you can take Lil J, it’s your choice,” Geoff told him.  Ryan was probably thinking ‘why can’t I just take you if we have to do this partner shit’, but Geoff had told Michael before, he doesn’t ride bitch.

 

“Fine,” Ryan growled.  Michael hopped on the back of Ryan’s green Bati and they were immediately flying through the streets, southwest, towards the rockier side of the beachfront property Los Santos boasted, where the Bungalow was.  It had not been cheap, but Geoff had, at some point, realized he couldn’t keep the entire B-Team operation in the penthouse, and owning a warehouse was boring, overdone, and obvious.  The B-Team headquarters were out in the Bungalow.  Matt was there with surveillance, except when their heists brought them into Blaine County, as the mountains sometimes interfered with the signal.  Trevor and Kerry were also usually at the Bungalow during a heist, and with one as important as the one they were running today, Caleb and Andy were sure to be there as well.  Apparently Caleb had taken half a CNA course once, and seen ‘most of the episodes of Scrubs’ and that qualified him to be the team’s medic when necessary, though Michael was skeptical of his actual abilities.

 

Nothing was said between Ryan and Michael as they rode to the Bungalow at what Michael would approximate to be 157mph.  It was hard to communicate on a motorcycle going that fast, and Michael was almost as concerned for their safety as he was for Ray’s.  The second they skidded to a halt outside the small house, Ryan was gone, sprinted inside, almost ripping the door off in his insistence to find his boyfriend.  Michael followed, much more slowly.

 

Gavin was just inside the door, with an expression as though he’d tried to say something to Ryan and gotten completely ignored, and wringing his hands as though something had happened and it was his fault.

 

“How is he?  What’s happening?” Michael asked Gavin.  Gavin didn’t say anything at first, just threw his arms around Michael and hugged him as tightly as he could.  Gavin’s whole body shook with each sob and tears soaked Michael’s leather jacket.  Michael tried to soothe him enough so he could speak clearly.  It seemed as though he’d been holding himself together until this point.  “Gavin, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

 

“It’s been s-so long, I thought you were dead,” Gavin sobbed finally.

 

“No, I’m fine,” Michael told him, rubbing his back slowly as he had been for several minutes.  “I’m fine, and Geoff’s fine, and Jeremy’s fine.

 

“Matt lost contact with you guys right after we got here,” Gavin said.

 

“That explains a lot,” Michael replied.  “We had to call a draw, but we all made it.  How is Ray?”

 

“Caleb did the best he could,” Gavin said, tears brimming into his eyes again and falling into Michael’s jacket.  “One bullet went clean through, but the other one didn’t, and he said it would be worse to take it out, ’specially without the proper equipment.”  Michael nodded slowly, remember something about bullet wounds from TV or some training he’d been to when he first joined the FIB.  “But he lost a lot of blood, Michael, and he hasn’t woken up, and I’m scared.”

 

“I’m here.  I’m with you,” Michael told him.

 

“I thought you were dead, Michael, and I was gonna have to tell Lindsay,” Gavin said quietly.  “I don’t know what to say.   S’not my job, next of kin stuff.”

 

“It’s okay, Gav, I’m fine, I’m not hurt,” Michael said.  “Do you wanna hang around until we know about Ray, or do you want to get out of here and go somewhere?”

 

“Can we go?” Gavin asked tearfully.  Michael nodded.  They headed out the front door of the Bungalow as Geoff and Jeremy headed in, offering no explanation but Gavin’s quiet sob of “you’re not dead,” to Geoff, and Geoff clapped him on the back in understanding.

 

Ray was on the other side of the Bungalow, in as comfortable a bed as they could find him.  Ryan looked like a complete wreck.  His mask was thrown on the floor of the room with his leather jacket.  Caleb had put a warm blanket over his shoulders, and Ryan hadn’t thrown it off.  His facepaint was streaked from the tears he’d shed both when Ray had first gotten shot and since he’d gotten to the Bungalow.  He wasn’t the Mad King or even the Vagabond now, he was just Ryan.  Just a guy that fell in love with a kid a few years back, and risked losing him every day, and until today, it was just part of the risk that made it all interesting.  The risk was no longer a thrill, now that it was very real, and Ray was never going to put his life in danger again.

 

Of course Funhaus would have gone for Ray.  They’d put in an attractive bid with BrownMan before he’d teamed up with Ryan, and an even larger bid for the pair of them,  but something about that team had rubbed them the wrong way, choosing to accept Geoff’s albeit smaller offer instead.  The veterans over at Funhaus were still pissed about it.  Ryan would make them pay for that later, but for now, Ray needed to wake up.  He needed to wake up, because he needed to be okay, and Ryan needed to kiss him until he forgot about Funhaus and all the assholes over there.  Two bullets, that meant two deaths from their crew.

 

In the hour or so it took until Ray finally came to, Ryan had already come up with 15 good plans on how to take out the entirety of Funhaus.

 

“Ry?” Ray mumbled quietly, frowning.

 

“Ray,” Ryan breathed, relieved.  “You’re alive.”

 

“Am I?” Ray asked.  Ryan picked up Ray’s glasses and pushed them carefully onto his face, and Ray blinked a few times.  “How bad is it?  How much drugs did he give me?”

 

“It’s … bad,” Ryan agreed.  “Caleb says you’ll live.”

 

“Will I have two arms?” Ray asked.

 

“Y-yeah,” Ryan probably lied.  Ray gave him a look.  “You’re alive, that’s the important part.”

 

“You look like fucking hell,” Ray observed.  “How long have I been out?”

 

“Three or four hours,” Ryan said.  “You need to stay here for a while, replenish fluids, that kind of stuff.”

 

“Yeah, right, Dad, I’m coming home to the Penthouse, are you kidding?  Where the fuck am I?  Is this the goddamn Bungalow?” Ray asked.  Caleb came rushing into the room at that second, putting all the medical knowledge he had from that half a class that one time and various television shows to good use.

 

*

 

Three days later, there was a huge meeting with all of Fake AH at the penthouse.  It was a tough squeeze for all of them, especially with Ray taking up most of the couch.

 

“No point in beating around the bush, Ray will be off sniper duty for a while, while his shoulder heals,” Geoff announced.  Everyone looked at Ray, expecting him to protest, but he didn’t say anything.  In fact, it didn’t even look like he was paying attention, just playing Tetris on his DS.  “The kickback from any kind of rifle would be enough to make his injuries even worse.  That being said, we don’t have the time to lay low while he recovers.  Jeremy’s always been our backup sniper, we think he has the edge on Gavin’s sniping abilities.”

 

“With Jeremy up top, it will put more pressure on Michael and myself in the Wild Card seat, so we’ve decided to bring Trevor onto the A-Team until further notice,” Ryan continued where Geoff left off.  “Which puts an empty spot over at the Bungalow.”

 

“I asked Ray if he wanted to help out over there for the time being, and he told me to eat a dick, so here we are,” Geoff said.  “Michael, of all people, has suggested we hire his girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.”

 

“We’ll take a girl over at the Bungalow,” Andy said immediately.

 

“Have any of you actually ever spoken to a girl?” Geoff shot back.

 

“I talked to Jack,” Matt shrugged.

 

“These kids don’t remember Jack,” Geoff said to Matt, shaking his head.  The B-Team was a post-Jack endeavor.  “I’ve talked to Lindsay, Ryan and I have evaluated her skills, Matt’s checked her out, she seems okay.”

 

“She’s top,” Gavin supplied.

 

“She’s top,” Geoff repeated, humoring Gavin as he so often did.  “Those are the formalities for today’s meeting.  Michael, Ryan, and I will bring her out to the Bungalow and get her initiated sometime next week.  For the rest of the day, Ryan is going to bore us all to death with a PowerPoint presentation on how we’re going to rip Funhaus to shreds.”  Geoff moved to the couch and Ray moved his feet for long enough for Geoff to sit down, then put his feet on Geoff’s lap.  Ryan and Matt bored everyone for an hour or so on the new plan, which devolved into a huge fight over how to spell Chiliad.  Chilliad? Mount Please Be So Chill-iad.

 

*

 

Lindsay fit right in with the nerds at the Bungalow, but Ray was determined to make his body fueled by anger to heal faster.  He hated missing the action.  If the FAKEs wouldn’t let him heist with them, he would heist by himself.

 

“Alright, asshole, you know you’re not supposed to be out here,” Michael said, in his best New Jersey, coming over the top of a ladder to find Ray looking down his scope at something in the building across the street.  “That’s also Lindsay’s bedroom window over there, and since you can’t hit the broad side of a fucking barn right now, I’d appreciate you not doing this.”

 

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you,” Ray shot back at Michael, which was a change of pace from the usual Lad dynamic, but Michael could roll with it.  “I know you’re up to something, and I’ll find out what it is.”

 

“I’m up to eating dinner with Gav and Lindsay,” Michael said.  “And you need to go home before Ryan does something stupid.”

 

“Ryan’s always doing something stupid,” Ray replied.  “But you’re shifty.  You’re taking over the Lads, you’re cozying up to Geoff, you’re planning something, and I don’t like it.”

 

“The Lads didn’t have your name on them,” Michael returned.  Ray fired at whatever he was aimed at and his entire body recoiled from the kickback.  He was clearly in a lot of pain.  “C’mon, dude, just go back to the penthouse.  You’re gonna hurt yourself worse out here.  We can send Gavin out to bip all the Trump signs later.”

 

“Pain is a sign of weakness,” Ray said through gritted teeth, moving his gun to set up a new shot.

 

“You have a bullet in your shoulder, no one thinks you’re weak,” Michael said.  “You’re gonna make it hit an artery if you keep doing this.”

 

“It’s physical therapy,” Ray said, still refusing to look at Michael.

 

“It’s a death wish!  I wasn’t going to tell anyone you were out here if you agreed to go home, but I’ll call Geoff if I have to,” Michael said.

 

“Oh, yeah, good, call _Dad_ on me,” Ray snarked, finally sitting back against the low wall and looking up at Michael.  “I need to do this.  I need to work through it.  I need to have a purpose.  What I don’t need is idiots like you telling me what I can and can’t do.  I’m BrownMan.  I’m a legend.  It’s an honor to get my bullet in your skull.  I fucking owned this city before I was 18, and I don’t need some cocky ass noob trying to make a move on _my_ city or _my_ crew and I don’t give a shit about your opinions about anything!  The only reason you’re here is because I wanted you, and I can get rid of you just as easily!  You think Geoff or Ryan are running this crew?  The Gents are the fucking mouthpiece I use because being a skinny anti-social Hispanic kid doesn’t exactly command respect.  But you know who respects me?  The Gents do.  If you want to be a Gent, you’ll respect me too.  You want to keep being a Lad?  Keep fucking around with your boi.  You’ll never get anywhere in Los Santos.  And that’s the truth.”


	6. The Plan Is Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends. I anticipate this chapter has been posted more quickly than the last one. My apologies for that once again.
> 
> Another thank you to everyone still reading this even though everything else I've ever written is so much better than this.
> 
> (We're back to the present day in the desert, lads.)

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” Michael asked, not willing to put down the pistol he was holding, even though there were at least 7 guns pointed at him, including the one in Lindsay’s hand.  He turned around to look at Lindsay, not sure what he should be feeling right now.

 

“You didn’t really think we were ever going to settle for rotting in jail, did you?” Ray asked, conversationally, just to the left of Lindsay, leaning casually against the helicopter, the only one in the courtyard not pointing a gun at anyone.  “So we pissed off some people, but maximum security federal prison was pretty much overkill.”

 

“Killing me seems like overkill,” Michael said.  “I’m not stopping you, just go home with Ryan.”

 

“That’s what you never understood about being in a crew, Michael,” Gavin, of all people, piped up.  “One team isn’t more important than any other team.”

 

“Waffle-O,” Geoff said.

 

“We’re all friends, friends love each other,” Ray said.  “Jack made the same mistake, you know.  After all these years, I bet you didn’t know she gave Geoff an out.”

 

“Sounds thrilling, tell me about it later, what does any of this have to do with Lindsay?” Michael asked, pointing at her.

 

“Jack’s such a fucking idiot,” Ray laughed.  “That’s what it has to do with her.”

 

“Ayo,” Lindsay said, smiling.

 

Michael’s eyes narrowed, staring at Lindsay.  They’d been together for over a year at this point, having met when Michael had been with the FAKEs for about five months and getting along instantly.  He’d never suspected her for a second, and needed to know her story. 

 

Michael took the small tablet that controlled the explosives inside the FAKEs necks from the pocket of his jacket and looked at it.  His eyes swiveled up to meet with Gavin’s, on Ray’s other side from Lindsay, holding a gold plated pistol out, aimed at Michael.  Michael dropped the device on the ground and crunched it under his foot.  A few of the guns around the courtyard stopped aiming at him, and though Geoff had stopped aiming at Meg, he now had two guns aimed at Michael.

 

“Lindsay, what’s going on?” Michael asked, quietly.

 

“The Red Queen knows what’s good for her,” came Ryan’s voice, and Michael was sick and tired of getting surprised at this point in the day.  Not that he was surprised that Ryan was in on this, and wouldn’t be surprised if he’d organized it, he just really wished people would stop sneaking up on him.

 

“What does that mean?  Everyone just put your fucking guns down and let me in on the plan!” Michael shouted.  Everyone lowered their weapons except Geoff, who stubbornly kept one pistol aimed at Michael, not trusting him for a second, and Michael honestly didn’t blame him.

 

“What do you think that means?” Ray asked.  “God, you’re an idiot.  Let’s just leave him here and go home.”

 

“No, no, he deserves to know,” Ryan said.  Ray rolled his eyes.

 

“So far I’ve gathered that Lindsay fucking betrayed me, which is fine, whatever, not like I was gonna marry her or anything,” Michael said sarcastically.  “I understand why you all want me dead, but what did this have to do with terrorists?”

 

“There were no terrorists,” Lindsay said.  “No one kidnapped me.  Ryan and I had this planned for weeks.”

 

“Why?” Michael asked.  This wasn’t just some random asshole, this was Lindsay.  He didn’t understand why she’d betray him like this.  They were in love.

 

“Why would I use the person you love against you?” Ryan asked with a chuckle.

 

“Sounds familiar,” Ray scoffed.

 

“Look, assholes,” Geoff interjected.  “This is real touching or whatever, but you’re all idiots.  Ryan and Lindsay are obviously in cahoots.”

 

“We had it set up, everything we needed,” Ryan said.  “And we fed enough information to the FIB to convince them that using the crew to rescue her was actually a good idea, not that Jack hadn’t had that idea before.”

 

“She was planning a mission like this one, to use you guys to lure the rest of the crew into a rescue, and capture the rest of them,” Lindsay said.  “She’s a vengeful woman, that Jack.  Geoff, seriously, someday, you’re gonna have to tell me what you did to her.”

 

“I didn’t do anything to her!” Geoff insisted.

 

“But I’m not going to prison,” Ryan said to Michael.  “None of us are going to prison.  And, of course, you have to die.”

 

“Killing him was not in the plan,” Lindsay said to Ryan. 

 

“Gavin’s going to kill him, aren’t you, Gav?” Ryan said to Gavin.  Gavin licked his lips nervously, looking at Ryan, then back to Michael.  “Aren’t you, Gav?” Ryan repeated.  Gavin nodded, raising his pistol in one shaky hand.

 

“Don’t make him do that,” Geoff said to Ryan.  “I’ll do it.  This mess is my fault.”

 

“No, Gavin needs to learn,” Ryan said.  “He got too involved with someone he shouldn’t have trusted.”  Gavin had his pistol held in front of him with two hands now, still shaking so badly there was probably a low chance of him actually hitting Michael anyway.  Everyone’s attention was on Gavin, starting to argue about whether Michael or Jack was a worse mistake, and something about Ryan having Geoff deal with that disaster later.

 

“Pst,” Lindsay whispered.  Michael turned his head to frown at her, distracted from Gavin.  Gavin saw Michael look at her and his eyes followed Michael’s gaze, but no one else noticed.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Michael muttered.

 

“He won’t shoot you,” Lindsay said quietly, as if to soothe any nervousness Michael had about dying today.

 

“No shit, he won’t shoot me,” Michael scoffed, also quietly, “but everyone else will when he doesn’t.”

 

“No, they won’t,” came Lindsay’s quiet reply.

 

“Why the fuck are you talking to me?” Michael asked, fighting to keep his voice low.  “Shouldn’t you be fucking off back to the FAKEs where you belong?”

 

“I did this for you,” Lindsay said, taken aback.

 

“Oh, right, excuse me for not instantly recognizing this as a favor,” Michael shot back.

 

Gavin pointed his gun in the air and emptied all the rounds into the sky.  Silence fell in the aftermath.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Geoff muttered, shaking his head.

 

“Michael’s my boi,” Gavin said, dropping his empty clip to the ground and not reloading.  Ryan glanced at Ray with a smirk.

 

“Geoffrey, would you like to finish what Gavin couldn’t?” Ryan asked.

 

“No,” Geoff said, annoyed.  “I don’t want to kill anyone, I just want to go home.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Matt volunteered.

 

“Of course you would,” Jeremy rolled his eyes.

 

“His fate has been sealed,” Ryan said.  “He’ll go his way, we’ll go our way.”

 

“You’re going to let Jack kill me for letting you guys escape?” Michael snorted.  “Fucking coward.”  Ryan’s eyes narrowed and he turned to look back at Michael.

 

“With any luck, she’ll give you the same punishment she gave us,” Ryan replied, before turning back away from Michael and walking towards the entrance to the brick-enclosed back patio or wherever they were.

 

“You weren’t even in prison!” Michael shouted after him.

 

“There are things worse than prison or death,” Ryan threw back at him.

 

The FAKEs cleared out, following Ryan, until just Gavin was left standing with Lindsay and Michael.  Meg was still sitting on the ground, holding her knees.

 

“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Michael asked Lindsay and Gavin, walking to Meg and offering her a hand.  She hugged him uncharacteristically.

 

“We’re staying with you,” Lindsay said.  Michael started angrily packing up the portable computer setup.

 

“Then you’re going to face Jack.  She’s already on her way,” Michael said.  “And if you thought the Gents don’t like traitors, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

 

“I’m not scared of Jack,” Gavin said.

 

“You shit your pants when she showed up in that warehouse,” Michael told him.  “Actually shit your pants.”

 

“No I didn’t,” Gavin protested.

 

“You pooed in your pants, yes you did,” Michael said.

 

“The poo didn’t get on my pants, though,” Gavin protested again.

 

“It’s an expression.  You pooed somewhere that wasn’t a toilet, you shit your pants,” Michael told him.  “Why are you always so obnoxious?”

 

“You told me three days ago you missed him,” Lindsay said.

 

“He did?!” Gavin asked, sounding hopeful.

 

“No I didn’t,” Michael said, annoyed with everyone.  “You can’t prove that.”

 

“Michael, my boi,” Gavin practically beamed.  “If Jack doesn’t kill me, am I coming home with you?”

 

“If Jack doesn’t kill you, it’s because I did,” Michael shot back.  “No, you can’t come home with me.  I don’t want you, the FAKEs don’t want you, maybe Lindsay or Meg will take you home.”

 

“Get a drink some time, love?” Gavin asked Meg. 

 

“Sure,” Meg agreed.

 

“One on _nine_ ,” Michael said, more to himself than any of the others.  “Jack sent me in here on some dumb suicide mission, and it’s one on _nine_!”

 

“I’m on your side,” Meg said, indignantly.

 

“Somebody should be, because Jack’s going to straight up murder me,” Michael said, slamming the chest of computer equipment shut just as a chopper sounded in the distance.  “Here she comes now, to kill me dead.  Excellent.  Now I’ll never have to hear Geoff or Ryan bitch ever again, and I’ll only have to deal with the three of you for another ten minutes or so.  It’s great.  Top.  Fuckin amazing.  Do you guys have any last words?  I haven’t been thinking of anything I really want to catch on, and it’s a shame I’ll die before Lindsay gets to tell me why the fuck she decided to team up with Ryan to kill me, but whatever, I’ll be dead, so I won’t care.”  Lindsay slapped him, very hard, and right across the face.  “What the fuck, bitch, I didn’t do shit to you!”

 

“I was sick and tired of listening to you bitch and moan about how much you missed your boi, and ‘wasn’t it great when we were in Los Santos’ and ‘why did I ever join the FIB all this paperwork can suck my dick’,” Lindsay threw at him.  “Sue me for doing something about it.”

 

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and Jack will kill you two and just exile me to Mexico or something,” Michael mused.  The chopper above them touched down gracefully beside them and they could see Jack was alone in the pilot’s seat.

 

“Get in,” she glared at them.  Meg got in the front while the other three crammed in the back.  It was silent, and that scared Michael the most.  They were headed out of the desert, over a body of water – Jack wasn’t the type to order them all to drown themselves, was she?  Gavin was trembling between Michael and Lindsay.  He’d seen the mini-tablet fixed to the dashboard on Jack’s right, pictures of all the FAKEs on it, all green, all displaying ‘active’ status – their neck bombs were back online, and Gavin knew he was in a bad place here.  Michael realized he’d been petting Gavin’s hair as Gavin leaned on his shoulder, though he didn’t remember when they’d started that.  The chopper ride seemed to go on forever, they flew over ocean, desert, cities, who the fuck knew where they were anymore… until they touched down again, and at least Gavin and Michael knew exactly where they were.  The top of the Maze Bank building.  They were back in Los Santos.  Jack cut the helo’s engines as they all got out.  Michael took the precedent to not start speaking before Jack did.  She sighed, more disappointed than anything else.

 

“I would _love_ to hear the story behind this one,” Jack said finally, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

“It’s my fault,” Lindsay said immediately, before the other three could say anything.

 

“Funny enough, I gathered that myself, based the evidence,” Jack replied coolly.

 

“You gave Geoff an out.  Not just once, but three times,” Michael said suddenly.  “Once when you were here the first time, it blew up in your face, but you still gave the offer.  A second time, when we caught the rest of the FAKEs, but he somehow ‘escaped’?  We both know he didn’t escape.  You let him go.  He surrendered, he told you, he goes with his crew and you sent him away.  You didn’t want him in prison.  They used his own fucking daughter to catch him, and then you threw him back until he broke into the FIB building in downtown Los Santos and demanded you send him away with his crew or he was going to bust them all out, single handedly.  And he would have too.  But you didn’t want him there and that’s your business.  You got attached – doesn’t matter what story you believe, if you went undercover or if you turned on them, it doesn’t matter!  Because you got attached, and what kind of bullshit universe do you live in where you thought I wouldn’t?  I got attached to Lindsay.  I love her, and I’d marry her in a second.  I got attached to Gavin, he’s my boi.  And I got attached to Ray and Geoff and Jeremy and all those assholes.  So fuck you and fuck the FIB.”

 

“Three weeks ago, the Mad King, Vagabond Extraordinaire, Esquire, one Mr. James Ryan Haywood, received an anonymous tip about the location of the one person he cares about more than anyone:  BrownMan, the Merc formerly known as Ray Narvaez Jr.  He took that tip and turned it into fuel to find his boyfriend and his crew, but he needed help from someone on the inside,” Jack said.

 

“Lindsay,” Michael said, following the chain of events.

 

“No,” Jack said, turning.

 

“The tip came from me,” Meg said quietly.

 

“What?” came Michael and Lindsay’s twin responses along with a slower ‘wot?’ squawked from Gavin.

 

“And why would a young impressionable psychiatrist turned FIB field agent have any interests in the affairs of the Mad King or the FAKEs?” Jack asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.  She just wanted to hear Meg tell it.

 

“I used to work in psychiatric prisons and asylums.  Six years ago, I was assigned to the Mad King himself.  He was fascinating – I… I helped him escape.  I hacked the records, made it seem like he’d been released, almost like he was never there at all,” Meg said.  “We stayed friends.  I moved up into the FIB…  We help each other out when we need it.  He needed his crew.  I knew where they were and how to get them out.  The injections they got were all duds.  None of the bombs ever would have detonated.”

 

“And no one ever caught on,” Jack continued.  “Why would they?  All the blame lands on Tuggey and Jones at the end of the day.”

 

“Kill me if you’re going to do it,” Meg told her.  “Don’t drag out the villain speech.”

 

“The story was true,” Michael blurted.  The girls stared at him, but Gavin nodded.  “When I asked Ray how he and Ryan met, he told me your story.  You’re Harley Quinn.”

 

“Except for the being in love part, I guess there are similarities,” Meg agreed.

 

“You each have a parachute.  The FAKEs’ penthouse is that red one right there,” Jack said, pointing to the building not far off.  “The personal effects from each of your desks at the FIB headquarters will be delivered to that address Monday afternoon.  I will inform everyone of your resignations, effective immediately.  Good luck in your future endeavors.”  Jack got back in her helicopter and left.  Just left the four of them on top of the Maze Bank.

 

“That was unexpected,” Lindsay remarked.

 

“We’re … not dead?” Gavin asked, confused.

 

“Even if I did want to go back to the FAKEs, which I don’t, they will just kill us when we get there,” Michael said.  Meg had already leapt off the building with a cheer.  Gavin followed her.  “God Dammit.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay said to Michael.

 

“What did you think was going to happen?  We rescue Gav and have a normal life together?  Get married, pop out a couple kids, coach little league, and make car payments?  Normal’s a setting on the fucking dryer.  People like us _don’t get normal_ ,” Michael told her.  “Don’t forget to pull the chute this time.”  He walked to the edge and jumped.  The ground rushed up at him, welcoming him to hell.  He pulled the chute at the last moment, hanging in the air only a few seconds before stepping to the ground beside Meg and Gavin.

 

“We’re going for bevs, wanna come, boi?” Gavin asked.

 

“It can’t be past noon yet, can it?” Michael asked.  Gavin shrugged.  “Yeah, I guess…” Michael agreed with a sigh.  They walked a few steps ahead of Meg and Lindsay.  “Why aren’t you mad at me?  Why don’t you want me dead?  They were all waiting for you to shoot me dead.  Why didn’t you?”

 

“S’not your fault, is it?” Gavin shrugged.  “I know you tried to get me out.”

 

“How’d’you know that?” Michael asked.

 

“Geoff told me,” Gavin said.  “When he came in, he told me how he’d tried to trade himself for me, how he heard you and Jack arguing.  I appreciate it, Michael.”

 

“Yeah, well, I got one free pass, and it went to Lindsay,” Michael grumbled.  “That’s what Jack said.  Geoff knew there was a reason he was still out… there was a whole thing… It’s not important… actually…”

 

“Why were you acting like we weren’t bois this morning, Michael?” Gavin asked.

 

“Because it was easier to deal with the fact that you’re all in prison, you had bombs in your necks, and it was all my fault, if I was Rage Quit again,” Michael sighed.


End file.
